Kitabı oku: «Hidden Warrior»

PART I

I ran away from Ero a frightened boy and returned knowing that I was a girl in a borrowed skin.

Brother’s skin.

After Lhel showed me the bits of bone inside my mother’s old cloth doll, and a glimpse of my true face, I wore my body like a mask. My true form stayed hidden beneath a thin veil of flesh.

What happened after that has never been clear in my mind. I remember reaching Lhel’s camp. I remember looking into her spring with Arkoniel and seeing that frightened girl looking back at us.

When I woke, feverish and aching, in my own room at the keep, I remembered only the tug of her silver needle in my skin and a few scattered fragments of a dream.

But I was glad still to have a boy’s shape. For a long time after I was grateful. Yet even then, when I was so young and unwilling to grasp the truth, I saw Brother’s face looking back at me from my mirror. Only my eyes were my own—and the wine-colored birthmark on my arm. By those I held the memory of the true face Lhel had shown me, reflected in the gently roiling surface of the spring—the face that I could not yet accept or reveal.

It was with this borrowed face that I would first greet the man who’d unwittingly determined my fate and Brother’s, Ki’s, even Arkoniel’s, long before any of us were born.

Chapter 1

Still caught at the edge of dark dreams, Tobin slowly became aware of the smell of beef broth and a soft, indistinct flow of voices nearby. They cut through the darkness like a beacon, drawing him awake. That was Nari’s voice. What was his nurse doing in Ero?

Tobin opened his eyes and saw with a mix of relief and confusion that he was in his old room at the keep. A brazier stood near the open window, casting a pattern of red light through its pierced brass lid. The little night lamp cast a brighter glow, making shadows dance around the rafters. The bed linens and his nightshirt smelled of lavender and fresh air. The door was closed, but he could still hear Nari talking quietly to someone outside.

Sleep-fuddled, he let his gaze wander around the room, content for the moment just to be home. A few of his wax sculptures stood on the windowsill, and the wooden practice swords leaned in the corner by the door. The spiders had been busy among the ceiling beams; cobwebs large and fine as a lady’s veil stirred gently in a current of air.

A bowl was on the table beside his bed, with a horn spoon laid out ready beside it. It was the spoon Nari had always fed him with when he was sick.

Am I sick?

Had Ero been nothing but a fever dream? he wondered drowsily. And his father’s death, and his mother’s, too? He ached a little, and the middle of his chest hurt, but he felt more hungry than ill. As he reached for the bowl, he caught sight of something that shattered his sleepy fantasies.

The ugly old rag doll lay in plain view on the clothes chest across the room. Even from here, he could make out the fresh white thread stitching up the doll’s dingy side.

Tobin clutched at the comforter as fragments of images flooded back. The last thing he remembered clearly was lying in Lhel’s oak tree house in the woods above the keep. The witch had cut the doll open and shown him bits of infant bones—Brother’s bones—hidden in the stuffing. Hidden by his mother when she’d made the thing. Using a fragment of bone instead of skin, Lhel had bound Brother’s soul to Tobin’s again.

Tobin reached into the neck of his nightshirt with trembling fingers and felt gingerly at the sore place on his chest. Yes, there it was; a narrow ridge of raised skin running down the center of his breastbone where Lhel had sewn him up like a torn shirt. He could feel the tiny ridges of the stitches, but no blood. The wound was nearly healed already, not raw like the one on Brother’s chest. Tobin prodded at it, finding the hard little lump the piece of bone made under his skin. He could wiggle it like a tiny loose tooth.

Skin strong, but bone stronger, Lhel had said.

Tucking his chin, Tobin looked down and saw that neither the bump nor the stitching was visible. Just like before, no one could see what she’d done to him.

A wave of dizziness rolled over him as he remembered how Brother had looked, floating facedown just above him while Lhel worked. The ghost’s face was twisted with pain; tears of blood fell from his black eyes and the unhealed wound on his breast.

Dead can’t be hurt, keesa, Lhel told him, but she was wrong.

Tobin curled up against the pillow and stared miserably at the doll. All those years of hiding it, all the fear and worry, and here it lay for anyone to see.

But how had it gotten here? He’d left it behind when he’d run away from the city.

Suddenly scared without knowing why, he almost cried out for Nari, but shame choked him. He was a Royal Companion, far too old to be needing a nurse.

And what would she say about the doll? Surely she’d seen it by now. Brother showed him a vision once of how people would react if they knew, their looks of disgust. Only girls wanted dolls …

Tears filled his eyes, transforming the lamp flame into a shifting yellow star. “I’m not a girl!” he whispered.

“Yes, you are.”

And there was Brother beside the bed, even though Tobin hadn’t spoken the summoning words. The ghost’s chill presence rolled over him in waves.

“No!” Tobin covered his ears. “I know who I am.”

“I’m the boy!” Brother hissed. Then, with a mean leer, “Sister.”

“No!” Tobin shuddered and buried his face in the pillow. “No no no no!”

Gentle hands lifted him. Nari held him tight, stroking his head. “What is it, pet? What’s wrong?” She was still dressed for the day, but her brown hair was unbound over her shoulders. Brother was still there, but she didn’t seem to notice him.

Tobin clung to her for a moment, hiding his face against her shoulder the way he used to, before pride made him pull back.

“You knew,” he whispered, remembering. “Lhel told me. You always knew! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I told her not to.” Iya stepped partway into the little circle of light. It left half her square, wrinkled face in shadow, but he knew her by her worn traveling gown and the thin, iron-grey braid that hung over one shoulder to her waist.

Brother knew her, too. He disappeared, but an instant later the doll flew off the chest and struck the old woman in the face. The wooden swords followed, clacking like a crane’s bill as she fended them off with an upraised hand. Then the heavy wardrobe began to shake ominously, grating across the floor in Iya’s direction.

“Stop it!” cried Tobin.

The wardrobe stopped moving and Brother reappeared by the bed, hatred crackling in the air around him as he glared at the old wizard. Iya flinched, but did not back away.

“You can see him?” asked Tobin.

“Yes. He’s been with you ever since Lhel completed the new binding.”

“Can you see him, Nari?”

She shivered. “No, thank the Light. But I can feel him.”

Tobin turned back to the wizard. “Lhel said you told her to do it! She said you wanted me to look like my brother.”

“I did what Illior required of me.” Iya settled at the foot of the bed. The light struck her full on now. She looked tired and old, yet there was hardness in her eyes that made him glad Nari was still beside him.

“It was Illior’s will,” Iya said again. “What was done was done for Skala’s sake, as much as for you. The day is coming when you must rule, Tobin, as your mother should have ruled.”

“I don’t want to!”

“I shouldn’t wonder, child.” Iya sighed and some of the hardness left her face. “You were never meant to find out the truth so young. It must have been a terrible shock, especially the way you found out.”

Tobin looked away, mortified. He’d thought the blood seeping between his legs had been the first sign of the plague. The truth had been worse.

“Even Lhel was taken by surprise. Arkoniel tells me she showed you your true face before she wove the new magic.”

“This is my true face!”

“My face!” Brother snarled.

Nari jumped and Tobin guessed even she’d heard that. He took a closer look at Brother; the ghost looked more solid than he had for a long time, almost real. It occurred to Tobin that he’d been hearing his twin’s voice out loud, too, not just a whisper in his mind like before.

“He’s rather distracting,” said Iya. “Could you send him away, please? And ask him not to make a fuss around the place this time?”

Tobin was tempted to refuse, but for Nari’s sake he whispered the words Lhel had taught him. “Blood, my blood. Flesh, my flesh. Bone, my bone.” Brother vanished like a snuffed candle and the room felt warmer.

“That’s better!” Taking up the bowl, Nari went to the brazier and dipped up the broth she had warming in a pot on the coals. “Here, get some of this into you. You’ve hardly eaten in days.”

Ignoring the spoon, Tobin took the bowl and drank from it. This was Cook’s special sickroom broth, rich with beef marrow, parsley, wine, and milk, along with the healing herbs.

He drained the bowl and Nari refilled it. Iya leaned over and retrieved the fallen doll. Propping it on her lap, she arranged its uneven arms and legs and looked down pensively at the crudely drawn face.

Tobin’s throat went tight and he lowered the bowl. How many times had he watched his mother sit just like that? Fresh tears filled his eyes. She’d made the doll to keep Brother’s spirit close to her. It had been Brother she’d seen when she looked at it, Brother she’d held and rocked and crooned to and carried with her everywhere until the day she threw herself out of the tower window.

Always Brother.

Never Tobin.

Was her angry ghost still up there?

Nari saw him shiver and hugged him close again. This time he let her.

“Illior really told you to do this to me?” he whispered.

Iya nodded sadly. “The Lightbearer spoke to me through the Oracle at Afra. You know what that is, don’t you?”

“The same Oracle that told King Thelátimos to make his daughter the first queen.”

“That’s right. And now Skala needs a queen again, one of the true blood to heal and defend the land. I promise you, one day you will understand all this.”

Nari hugged him and kissed the top of his head. “It was all to keep you safe, pet.”

The thought of her complicity stung him. Wiggling free, he scooted back against the bolsters on the far side of the bed and pulled his legs—long, sharp-shinned boy legs—up under his shirt. “But why?” He touched the scar, then broke off with a gasp of dismay. “Father’s seal and my mother’s ring! I had them on a chain …”

“I have them right here, pet. I kept them safe for you.” Nari took the chain from her apron pocket and held it out to him.

Tobin cradled the talismans in his hand. The seal, a black stone set high in a gold ring, bore the deep-carved oak tree insignia of Atyion, the great holding Tobin now owned but had never seen.

The other ring had been his mother’s bride gift from his father. The golden mounting was delicate, a circlet of tiny leaves holding an amethyst carved with a relief of his parents’ youthful profiles. He’d spent hours gazing at the portrait; he’d never seen his parents happy together, the way they looked here.

“Where did you find that?” the wizard asked softly.

“In a hole under a tree.”

“What tree?”

“A dead chestnut in the back courtyard of my mother’s house in Ero.” Tobin looked up to find her watching him closely. “The one near the summer kitchen.”

“Ah yes. That’s where Arkoniel buried your brother.”

And where my mother and Lhel dug him up again, he thought. Perhaps she lost the ring then. “Did my parents know what you did to me?”

He caught the quick, sharp look Iya shot at Nari before she answered. “Yes. They knew.”

Tobin’s heart sank. “They let you?”

“Before you were born, your father asked me to protect you. He understood the Oracle’s words and obeyed without question. I’m sure he taught you the prophecy the Oracle gave to King Thelátimos.”

“Yes.”

Iya was quiet for a moment. “It was different for your mother. She wasn’t a strong person and the birthing was very difficult. And she never got over your brother’s death.”

Tobin had to swallow hard before he could ask, “Is that why she hated me?”

“She never hated you, pet. Never!” Nari pressed a hand to her heart. “She wasn’t right in her mind, that’s all.”

“That’s enough for now,” said Iya. “Tobin, you’ve been very ill and slept the last two days away.”

“Two?” Tobin looked out the window. A slim crescent moon had guided him here; now it had waxed nearly to half. “What day is it?”

“The twenty-first of Erasin, pet. Your name day came and went while you slept,” said Nari. “I’ll tell Cook to make the honey cakes for tomorrow’s supper.”

Tobin shook his head in bewilderment, still staring at the moon. “I—I was in the forest. Who brought me to the house?”

“Tharin showed up out of nowhere with you in his arms, and Arkoniel behind him with poor Ki,” said Nari. “Scared me almost to death, just like that day your father brought your—”

“Ki?” Tobin’s head reeled as another memory struggled to the surface. In his fevered dreams Tobin had floated up into the air over Lhel’s oak and found himself looking down from a great height. He’d seen something in the woods just beyond the spring, lying on the dead leaves—“No, Ki’s safe in Ero. I was careful!”

But a cold knot of fear took root in his belly, pressing on his heart. In his dream it had been Ki lying on the ground, and Arkoniel was weeping beside him. “He brought the doll, didn’t he? That’s why he followed me.”

“Yes, pet.”

“Then it wasn’t a dream.” But why had Arkoniel been weeping?

It was a moment before he realized that people were still speaking to him. Nari was shaking him by the shoulder, looking alarmed. “Tobin, what is it? You’ve gone white!”

“Where’s Ki?” he whispered, gripping his knees hard as he braced for the answer.

“I was just telling you,” Nari said, her round face lined with new concern. “He’s asleep in your old toy room next door. With you so ill and thrashing about in your sleep, and him hurt so bad, I thought you’d rest easier apart.”

Tobin clambered across the bed, not waiting to hear more.

Iya caught him by the arm. “Wait. He’s still very ill, Tobin. He fell and hit his head. Arkoniel and Tharin have been tending him.”

He tried to pull free, but she held on. “Let him rest. Tharin has been frantic, going back and forth between your rooms like a sorrowful hound all this time. He was asleep by Ki’s bed when I passed.”

“Let me go. I promise I won’t wake them, but please, I have to see Ki!”

“Stay a moment and listen to me.” Iya was grave now. “Listen well, little prince, for what I tell you is worth your life, and theirs.”

Trembling, Tobin sank back on the edge of the bed.

Iya released him and folded her hands across the doll in her lap. “As I said, you were never meant to bear this burden so young, but here we are. Listen well and seal these words in your heart. Ki and Tharin don’t know, and they mustn’t know, about this secret of ours. Except for Arkoniel, only Lhel and Nari know the truth, and so it must remain until the time comes for you to claim your birthright.”

“Tharin doesn’t know?” Tobin’s first reaction was relief. It was Tharin, as much as his father, who’d taught him how to be a warrior.

“It was one of the great sorrows of your father’s life. He loved Tharin just as you love Ki. It broke his heart to keep such a secret from his friend, and it made the burden all that much harder to bear. But now you must do the same.”

“They’d never betray me.”

“Not willingly, of course. They’re both stubborn and stouthearted as Sakor’s bull. But wizards like your uncle’s man Niryn have ways of finding out things. Magical ways, Tobin. They don’t need torture to read a person’s innermost thoughts. If Niryn ever suspected who you really are, he’d know just whose heads to look into for the proof.”

Tobin went cold. “I think he did something like that to me the first time I met him.” He held out his left arm, showing her the birthmark. “He touched this and I got a bad, crawly feeling inside.”

Iya frowned. “Yes, that sounds right.”

“Then he knows!”

“No, Tobin, for you didn’t know yourself. Until a few days ago, all anyone would find inside your head were the thoughts of a young prince, concerned only with hawks and horses and swords. That was our intent from the start, to protect you.”

“But Brother. The doll. He would have seen that.”

“Lhel’s magic protects those thoughts. Niryn could only find them if he knew to look for them. So far, it would seem he doesn’t.”

“But now I do know. When I go back, what then?”

“You must make certain he finds no reason to touch your thoughts again. Keep the doll a secret, just as you have, and avoid Niryn as much as you can. Arkoniel and I will do whatever we can to protect you. In fact, I think it may be time for me to be seen with my patron’s son again.”

“You’ll come back to Ero with me?”

She smiled and patted his shoulder. “Yes. Now go see your friends.”

The corridor was cold but Tobin hardly noticed. Ki’s door stood slightly ajar, casting a thin sliver of light out across the rushes. Tobin slipped inside.

Ki was asleep in an old high-sided bed, tucked up to the chin with counterpanes and quilts. His eyes were closed and even in the warm glow of the night lamp, he looked very pale. There were dark circles around his eyes and a linen bandage wrapped around his head.

Tharin was asleep in an armchair beside the bed, wrapped in his long riding cloak. His long, grey-blond hair fell in untidy tangles over his shoulders and a week’s worth of stubble shadowed the hollows of his cheeks above his short beard. Just the sight of him made Tobin feel a little better; he always felt safer with Tharin nearby.

Hard on that thought, however, came the echo of Iya’s warning. Here were the two people he loved and trusted above all others, and now it lay with him to protect them. A wild, rebellious love welled up in his heart as he thought again of Niryn’s prying brown eyes. He’d kill the man himself if the wizard tried to hurt his friends.

Tobin tiptoed toward the bed as carefully as he could, but Tharin’s pale eyes snapped open before he reached it.

“Tobin? Thank the Light!” he exclaimed softly, pulling the boy into his lap and hugging him so hard it hurt. “By the Four, we’ve been so worried! You slept and slept. How are you, lad?”

“Better.” Embarrassed, Tobin gently freed himself and stood up.

Tharin’s smile faded. “Nari says you thought you’d caught the Red and Black Death. You should have come to me instead of running off like that! Anything could have happened to you boys alone on the road. The whole ride out here we expected to find your bodies in a ditch.”

“We? Who came with you?” For one awful moment Tobin feared that his guardian had come looking for him, too.

“Koni and the other guardsmen, of course. Don’t go trying to change the subject. It wasn’t much better finding the two of you like this.” He glanced at Ki, and Tobin knew he was still worried about him. “You should have stayed in the city. Poor Arkoniel and the others have had a time of it. They’re ready to drop in their tracks.” But there was no anger in his eyes as he gazed earnestly up at Tobin. “You gave us all a bad scare.”

Tobin’s chin quivered and he hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

Tharin gathered him in again, patting his shoulder. “Well, then,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “We’re all here now.”

“Ki’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” Tharin didn’t answer and Tobin saw tears glazing the warrior’s eyes. “Tharin, he will be well?”

The man nodded, but doubt was plain in his face. “Arkoniel says he’ll probably wake up soon.”

Tobin’s knees went wobbly and he sank down on the arm of Tharin’s chair. “Probably?”

“He must have caught the same fever you had, and with the knock in the head—” He reached to smooth Ki’s dark hair back from the bandage. A yellowish stain had seeped through. “That needs changing.”

“Iya said he fell.”

“Yes. Struck his head quite a blow, too. Arkoniel thinks—Well, it looks like that demon of yours might have had a hand in it.”

A shard of ice seemed to lodge itself in Tobin’s stomach. “Bro—The ghost hurt him?”

“He thinks it tricked Ki into carrying that doll of yours out here for it.”

Tobin’s breath hitched tight in his chest. If this were true, he’d never, ever call Brother again. Brother could starve, for all he cared.

“You—you saw it? The doll, I mean?”

“Yes.” Tharin gave him a puzzled look. “Your father thought it fell with your mother that day and got carried away by the river. He even sent some of the men out looking for it. But you had it all this time, didn’t you? What made you keep it hidden like that?”

Did Tharin know about Lhel, too? Unsure, Tobin could only offer a partial truth. “I thought you and Father would be ashamed of me. Dolls are for girls.”

Tharin let out a sad little laugh. “No one would have begrudged you that one. It’s a shame that’s the only one she left you. If you like, I could probably find you one of the pretty ones she made before her illness. Half the nobles in Ero have them.”

There had been a time when Tobin had wanted one so badly it hurt. But he’d wanted it from her hands, proof that she loved him, or at least acknowledged him as much as she did Brother. That had never happened. He shook his head. “No, I don’t want any others.”

Perhaps Tharin understood, for he said nothing more about it. They sat together for a while, watching Ki’s chest rise and fall beneath the quilts. Tobin yearned to crawl in beside him, but Ki looked so fragile and ill that he didn’t dare. Too miserable to sit still, he finally went back to his own room so Tharin could sleep. Iya and Nari were gone and he was glad; he didn’t want to talk to either of them just now.

The doll lay on the bed where the wizard had been sitting. As Tobin stared down at it, trying to take in what had happened, anger like nothing he’d ever felt gripped him, so strong he could hardly breathe.

I’ll never call him again. Never!

Snatching it up, he thrust the hated thing into the clothes chest and slammed the lid down. “You can stay here forever!”

He felt a little better after that. Let Brother haunt the keep if he wanted; he could have the place for all Tobin cared, but he wasn’t going back to Ero.

He found his clothes folded neatly on a shelf in the wardrobe. Little bags of dried lavender and mint fell out of the folds of his tunic when he picked it up. He pressed the wool to his face and inhaled, knowing that Nari had tucked the herbs there after she’d washed and mended his clothes. She’d probably sat by the bed as she worked, watching over him.

The thought dissolved his anger at her. No matter what she’d done all those years ago, he knew she loved him, and he still loved her. Dressing quickly, he made his way quietly upstairs.

A few lamps burned in niches along the third floor corridor, and moonlight streamed in at the rosette windows overhead, but the passage was still shadowy and cold. Arkoniel’s rooms lay at the far end and Tobin couldn’t help keeping one eye on the heavy locked door across from the workroom, the door to the tower.

If he went to it, he wondered, would he still feel his mother’s angry spirit there, just on the other side? He kept close to the right-hand wall.

There was no answer at Arkoniel’s bedchamber, but light showed underneath the workroom door next to it. Tobin lifted the latch and went in.

Lamps burned everywhere inside, banishing the shadows and filling the large chamber with light. Arkoniel was at the table under the windows, head propped on one hand as he studied a parchment. He started nervously as Tobin entered, then rose to greet him.

Tobin was surprised at how worn the young wizard looked. There were dark hollows under his cheekbones and his face had a pinched look, as if he’d been sick. His curly black hair, always unruly, stuck out in clumps about his head, and his tunic was rumpled and stained with dirt and ink.

“Awake at last,” he said, attempting to sound hearty and failing miserably. “Has Iya spoken with you yet?”

“Yes. She told me not to tell anyone about this.” Tobin touched his chest, unwilling to give voice to the hated secret.

Arkoniel sighed deeply and looked distractedly around the room. “It was a terrible way for you to find out, Tobin. By the Light, I’m sorry. None of us suspected, not even Lhel. I’m so very sorry …” He trailed off, still not looking at Tobin. “It shouldn’t have happened as it did. None of it.”

Tobin had never seen the young wizard look so dismayed. At least Arkoniel had tried to be his friend. Not like Iya, who only showed up when it suited her.

“Thank you for helping Ki,” he said, as the silence drew out uncomfortably between them.

Arkoniel jerked as if Tobin had slapped him, then let out a hollow laugh. “You’re most welcome, my prince. How could I do otherwise? Is there any change?”

“He’s still asleep.”

“Asleep.” Arkoniel wandered back to the table, touching things, picking them up and putting them down without looking at them.

Tobin’s fear crept back. “Will Ki be all right? There wasn’t really any fever. Why hasn’t he woken up yet?”

Arkoniel fiddled with a wooden rod. “It takes time, such a wound.”

“Tharin said you think Brother hurt him.”

“Brother was with him. Perhaps he knew we’d need the doll—I don’t know. He may have hurt Ki. I don’t know if he meant to.” He began picking at things on the table again, as if he’d forgotten that Tobin was still there. At last he took up the document he’d been reading, holding it up for Tobin to see. The seals and florid looping handwriting were unmistakable. It was the work of Lord Orun’s scribe.

“Iya thought I should be the one to tell you,” Arkoniel said despondently. “This arrived yesterday. You’re to go back to Ero as soon as you’re fit to travel. Orun is furious, of course. He’s threatening to write to the king again, demanding that you take a different squire.”

Tobin sank down on a stool by the table. Orun had been trying to replace Ki since their first day in Ero. “But why? It wasn’t Ki’s fault!”

“I’m sure he doesn’t care about that. He sees an opportunity to get what he’s always wanted—someone who’ll keep a closer eye on you.” Arkoniel rubbed at his eyes and ran his fingers back through his hair, leaving it more disheveled than ever. “Of one thing you can be certain. He’ll never let you run off like that again. You’re going to have to be terribly careful now. Never give Orun or Niryn or anyone else any reason to suspect you’re more than the king’s orphaned nephew.”

“Iya explained about that already. I don’t see much of Niryn anyway if I can help it. He scares me.”

“Me too,” Arkoniel admitted, but he looked a bit more like his old self. “Before you go back, there are a few things I can teach you, ways to shroud your thoughts.” He managed the ghost of a smile. “Don’t worry, it’s just a matter of concentration. I know you don’t care much for magic.”

Tobin shrugged. “I can’t seem to get away from it, though, can I?” He picked unhappily at a callus on his thumb. “Korin told me how I’m the next heir after him, until he has an heir of his own. Is that why Lord Orun wants to control me?”

“Ultimately, yes. But for now he has control of Atyion—in your name, of course, but control all the same. He’s an ambitious man, our Orun. If anything were to happen to Prince Korin before he marries …” He shook his head sharply. “We must keep a close eye on him. And don’t worry too much about Ki. Orun doesn’t have final say on that, no matter how much he blusters. Only the king can decide that. I’m sure it will all get sorted out when you get back.”

“Iya’s going to Ero with me. I wish you’d come, instead.”

Arkoniel smiled and this time it was his real smile, all kind and awkward and well-meaning. “I wish I could, but for now it’s best that I stay hidden here. The Harriers already know Iya, but not about me. Tharin will be with you, and Ki.”

Seeing Tobin’s crestfallen look, he knelt beside him and took him by the shoulders. “I’m not abandoning you, Tobin. I know it must feel that way, but I’m not. I never will. If ever you need me, you can be certain I’ll find my way to you. Once Orun calms down, perhaps you can convince him to let you visit here more often. I’m sure Prince Korin will take your side in that.”

That was little comfort to him now, but Tobin nodded. “I want to see Lhel. Will you take me? Nari will never let me go out alone and Tharin still doesn’t know about her, does he?”

“No, though I wish more than ever now that he did.” Arkoniel rose. “I’ll take you to her first thing tomorrow, all right?”

“But I want to go now.”

“Now?” Arkoniel glanced at the dark window. “It’s after midnight. You should go back to bed …”

“I’ve slept for days! I’m not tired.”

Arkoniel smiled again. “But I am, and Lhel will be sleeping, too. Tomorrow, all right? We can go as early as you like, as soon as it’s light. Come on, I’ll walk down with you and see how Ki’s doing.” He pointed to the lamps in turn, snuffing all but the one at his elbow. Then, to Tobin’s surprise, he shuddered and hugged himself. “It’s gloomy up here at night.”

Tobin couldn’t help glancing nervously toward the tower door as they went out, and was sure he saw the wizard do the same.

Chapter 2

Tobin woke up in the armchair with the sun in his face and Tharin’s cloak tucked around him. He stretched, then leaned forward to see if Ki looked any different.

His friend hadn’t moved, but Tobin thought there was more color in his cheeks than there had been the night before. He reached under the blankets and found Ki’s hand. It was warm, another encouraging sign.

“Can you hear me? Ki, you’ve been sleeping forever. It’s a good day for a ride. Wake up. Please?”

“Let him sleep, keesa.”

“Lhel?” Tobin turned, expecting to find the door open.

Instead, the witch floated just behind him in an oval of strange light. He could see trees around her, firs and bare oaks dusted with snow. As he watched, big lacy flakes fell, catching in her dark curls and on the rough fabric of her dress. It was like looking at her through a window. Just beyond the oval the room looked exactly as it should, but she seemed to be standing in her camp.

Amazed, Tobin reached out to her, but the strange apparition shrank back and in on itself until he could see nothing but her face.

“No! No touch,” she warned. “Arkoniel bring you. Let Ki rest.”

She vanished, and left Tobin gaping at the place she’d been. He didn’t understand what he’d just seen, but he took her at her word. “I’ll be back soon,” he told Ki and, on impulse, bent and kissed him lightly on his bandaged forehead. Blushing at his own foolishness, he hurried out and took the stairs to Arkoniel’s room two at a time.

In daylight the corridor looked safe and ordinary, and the tower door nothing but another door. The workroom door stood open and he could hear Iya and Arkoniel talking inside.

Arkoniel was weaving a pattern of light above the table as Tobin entered. Something struck the wall close to Tobin’s head and skittered across the floor. Startled, he looked down and saw it was only a speckled dry bean.

“And that’s as far as I’ve gotten with it,” said Arkoniel, sounding frustrated. He still looked tired and when he caught sight of Tobin the worry lines deepened around his mouth. “What is it? Is Ki—?”

“He’s asleep. I want to go see Lhel now. She said I should come. You said you’d take me.”

“She said—?” Arkoniel exchanged a look with Iya, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll take you.”

It was snowing outside, just as it had been in his vision of Lhel. The fat, wet flakes melted as they touched the ground, but they stayed on the tree boughs like sugar on a cake and he could see his breath on the air. The road behind the keep was covered with fallen leaves, a faded carpet of yellow and red that whispered under Gosi’s hooves. Ahead, the peaks glistened white against the dull grey sky.

He tried to explain the strange visitation to Arkoniel as they rode.

“Yes, she calls that her window spell,” said the wizard, not sounding the least surprised.

Before Tobin could question him further, the witch stepped from the trees to meet them. She always knew when they were coming.

Dirty and gap-toothed, dressed in a shapeless brown dress decorated with polished deer teeth, she looked more beggar than witch. Squinting up at them, she shook her head and grinned. “You keesas has no breakfast. Come, I feed you.”

As if it were just another day and nothing strange had ever happened between them, she turned and walked back into the trees. Tobin and Arkoniel tethered their horses and hurried after her on foot. Another of the witch’s peculiar magics guarded her camp. In all the time Tobin had known her, she had never used the same path twice, and he and Ki had never been able to find their way to her on their own. He wondered if Arkoniel knew how.

After many twists and turns, they came out in the clearing where her oak house stood. He’d forgotten how huge it was. Grandmother oak, Lhel called it. The trunk was as wide as a small cottage, and a natural split had hollowed a great space inside the trunk without killing it. A few leathery, copper-colored leaves still fluttered on the upper branches, and the ground around it was strewn with acorns. A fire crackled near the low opening that served as Lhel’s door. She disappeared inside for a moment, returning with a bowl of dried meat strips and a few wrinkled pippins.

Tobin wasn’t interested in food, but Lhel put the bowl in his hands and wouldn’t say another word until he and Arkoniel had done as they were told.

“You come now,” she said, going back to the oak. Arkoniel rose to follow, but she forestalled him with a look.

Inside, another small fire burned in a pit at the center of the packed-earth floor. Lhel pulled the deerskin door flap down and sat on the pelt-covered pallet beside the fire, patting the place beside her. When Tobin joined her, she turned his face to the light and studied him a moment, then opened the neck of his tunic to inspect the scar.

“Is good,” she said, then pointed down at his lap. “You see more blood?”

Tobin blushed and shook his head. “That won’t happen again, will it?”

“Someday later. But you may feel moontide in the belly.”

Tobin remembered the ache between his hipbones that had driven him here. “I don’t like that. It hurts.”

Lhel chuckled. “No girl like that.”

Tobin shivered at the word, but Lhel didn’t seem to notice. Reaching into the shadows behind her, she handed him a small pouch containing dried bluish green leaves. “Akosh. If pains come, you make tea with just this much, no more.” She showed him a generous pinch of leaves and mimed crumbling them into a cup.

Tobin stuck the bag inside his tunic, then stared down at his clasped hands. “I don’t want this, Lhel. I don’t want to be a girl. And I don’t want to be—queen.” He could hardly get the word out.

“You not change your fate, keesa.”

“Fate? You did this. You and the wizards!”

“Goddess Mother and your Lightbearer tell it must be so. That make fate.”

Tobin looked up to find her watching him with wise, sad eyes. She pointed skyward. “The gods be cruel, no? To you and Brother.”

“Brother! Did Arkoniel tell you what he did? I’m never going to call him again. Never! I’ll bring you the doll. You keep him.”

“No, you will. You must. Souls tied tight.” Lhel locked her hands together.

Tobin’s hands curled to white-knuckled fists on his knees. “I hate him!”

“You need him.” Lhel took his hands and spoke in his mind without words, the way she always did when she wanted to be clear. “You and he must be together for the magic to hold. He is cruel. What else could he be, angry and alone all the time and seeing you live the life denied him? Perhaps you can understand a little, now that you know the truth?”

Tobin didn’t want to understand, or to forgive but her words struck home all the same. “You hurt him, when you sewed the bone into my chest. He cried blood.”

Lhel grimaced. “He was not meant to be, child. I’ve done all I could for him, but he’s been the burden of my heart since you were born.”

“Your burden?” Tobin sputtered. “You weren’t there when he was hurting me, hurting my mother and father and driving servants away—And he almost killed Ki!” The fire blurred before him as tears welled up. “Have you seen Ki? He won’t wake up!”

“He will. And you will keep the doll and care for Brother.”

Tobin wiped angrily at his eyes. “It’s not fair!”

“Hush, keesa!” she snapped, pulling her hands away from his. “What gods care for ‘fair’? Fair I stay here, far from my people? Live in tree? For you, I do this. For you we all suffer.”

Tobin shrank back as if he’d been slapped. She’d never spoken to him like that; no one had.

“You be queen for Skala. That your fate! Would you abandon your people?” She stopped and shook her head, gentle again. “You young, keesa. Too young. This will end. When you take off Brother skin, you both be free then.”

“But when?”

“I no see. Illior tell you, maybe.” She stroked his cheek, then took his hand and pressed it to her right breast. It was soft and heavy under the coarse wool. “You will be a woman one day, keesa.” Her voice was a dark caress in his mind. “I see the fear in your heart, fear you’ll lose your power. Women have power, too. Why do you think your moon god made queens for Skala? They were all warriors, your ancestors. Never forget that. Women carry the moon in their blood tide, too, and in their heart blood.”

She touched the inside of her wrist where the fine blue veins showed through. A thin cresecent moon appeared there, etched in fine black lines. “That you now—sliver moon, most of you dark.” She moved her finger and a circle appeared, just touching the outer curve of the crescent. “But when you grown like belly moon, you will know your power.”

With the eye of an artist, Tobin knew there must be more to balance the design—a waning moon—but she didn’t show him or speak of it. Instead, she touched his flat belly. “Here you will make great queens.” Her eyes met his and Tobin saw respect there. “Teach them about my people, Tobin. Teach your wizards, too.”

“Iya and Arkoniel know. They went to you when they needed help.”

Lhel let out a snort and sat back. “Not many like them,” she said aloud. Drawing the silver knife from her belt, she pricked her left thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. With it she drew a crescent on Tobin’s brow, then enclosed it in a circle. “Mother protect you, keesa.” She kissed the mark she’d made. “You go back now.”

As Tobin left the clearing with Arkoniel he paused at the spring, wanting to see what the blood mark looked like. There was no sign of it; perhaps it had vanished when she kissed him. He looked for that other face, too, and was glad when he saw only his own.

Tobin spent the rest of the day with Ki, watching Cook and Nari gently spooning broth between his lips and changing the thick woolen pads underneath him when he soiled himself. It hurt to see his friend so helpless. Ki was thirteen, and wouldn’t think much of being treated like a baby.

Tobin wanted nothing more than to be alone, but everyone seemed determined to look after him. Tharin brought modeling wax and sat with him. Sergeant Laris and some of the other men came up, too, offering to play bakshi and knucklebones, but Tobin didn’t want to. They all tried to cheer him up, joking and talking to Ki as if he could hear them, but that only made Tobin feel worse. He didn’t want to talk about horses or hunting, not even with Tharin. It seemed like lying, to speak of such ordinary things. Lhel’s words haunted him, making him feel like a stranger in his own skin. His new secrets lodged like caneberry seeds between his teeth, threatening to work loose and fly out at any moment if he wasn’t careful.

“Now look, you’ve tired poor Tobin out!” Nari exclaimed, coming in with a stack of fresh linen. “He’s only just up out of his own sickbed himself. Go on now and let him have some peace.”

She shooed the soldiers out, but Tharin hung back. “Would you like me to stay, Tobin?”

For once, he didn’t. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m just tired.”

“You should go back to bed,” said Nari. “I’ll fetch you some broth and a warm brick for the foot of your bed.”

“No, please. Just let me sit with him.”

“He can sleep here if he needs to. That chair is good for napping.” With a final wink over his shoulder at Tobin, Tharin gently guided Nari out of the room before she could fuss over Tobin any more.

Tobin curled up in the armchair and watched Ki’s chest rise and fall for a while. Then he stared at his friend’s closed lids, willing them to open. At last he gave that up and picked up the wax Tharin had brought. Breaking off a bit, he rolled it between his palms to soften it. The familiar feel and sweet smell calmed him as it always had and he began shaping a little horse for Ki; those were his favorites. Tobin had given him a little wooden horse charm soon after Ki came to the keep and he still wore it on a cord around his neck. Tobin’s skill had improved since then and he’d offered to make him a better one, but Ki wouldn’t hear of it.

Tobin had just finished marking the mane with his fingernail when he sensed someone in the doorway. Iya smiled at him when he looked up and he guessed she’d been standing there for some time.

“May I join you?”

Tobin shrugged. Taking that as an invitation, Iya drew up a stool and leaned in to see the horse. “You’re very good at that. Is it a votive?”

Tobin nodded; he should make an offering at the house shrine. The horse’s head was too long, though. Pinching off a bit of the nose, he reshaped it, but now it was too small. Giving up, he rolled the whole thing into a ball.

“I just want to stay as I am!” he whispered.

“And so you shall, for a good while longer.”

Tobin touched his face, tracing its familiar contours. The face Lhel had shown him was softer, rounder through the cheeks, as if a sculptor had added a little wax and smoothed it in with his thumbs. But the eyes—those had still been his own. And the crescent-shaped scar on his chin.

“Does it—can you see—her?” He couldn’t bring himself to say “me.” His fingers found the wax again and he pinched at it nervously.

Iya chuckled. “No, you’re quite safe.”

Tobin knew she meant safe from King Erius and his wizards, but they weren’t whom he meant. What would Korin and the other boys say if they found out? No girls were allowed to serve as Companions.

Iya rose to go, then stopped and looked down at the new horse taking shape in his hands. Reaching into a pouch at her belt, she took out a few soft buff-and-brown feathers and gave them to him.

“Owl,” said Tobin, recognizing the pattern. “A saw what.”

“Yes. For Illior. You might consider making offerings to the Lightbearer now and then. Just lay them on the fire.”

Tobin said nothing, but when she’d gone he went down to the hall, filled a small brass offering basin with embers from the main hearth, and set it on the shelf of the house shrine. Whispering a prayer to Sakor to make Ki strong again, he laid the wax horse on the embers and blew on them until the wax melted. Every bit of the little votive was consumed, a sign that the god had been listening. Taking out one of the owl feathers, he twirled it between his fingers, wondering what prayer was proper. He hadn’t thought to ask. Laying it on the coals, he whispered, “Lightbearer, help me! Help Ki, too.”

The feather smoldered for a second, sending up a thread of acrid smoke, then caught fire and disappeared in a flash of green flame. A sudden shiver seized Tobin, leaving his knees a little shaky. This was a more dramatic answer than Sakor had ever sent. More scared than reassured, Tobin dumped the coals back into the hearth and hurried upstairs.

The following day was much the same and passed even more slowly. Ki slept on, and to Tobin’s worried eye, he was looking paler even though Nari said otherwise. Tobin made twenty-three horses, watched from the window as Laris drilled the men in the barracks yard, dozed in the chair. He even played idly with the little boats and wooden people in the toy city, though he was much too old for it now and got up hurriedly whenever he heard anyone coming.

Tharin brought supper on a tray and stayed to eat with him. Tobin still didn’t feel much like talking but was glad for the company. After supper they played bakshi on the floor.

They were in the middle of a toss when the faint stir of bedclothes caught Tobin’s attention. Jumping to his feet, he bent over Ki and took his hand. “Are you awake, Ki? Can you hear me?”

His heart leaped when Ki’s dark lashes fluttered against his cheek. “Tob?”

“And me,” Tharin said, smoothing Ki’s hair back from his brow. His hand was shaking, but he was smiling.

Ki looked around blearily. “Master Porion … tell him … too tired to run today.”

“You’re at the keep, remember?” Tobin had to stop himself from squeezing Ki’s hand too tightly. “You followed me out here.”

“What? Why would …” He stirred against the pillow, struggling to stay awake. “Oh, yes. The doll.” His eyes widened. “Brother! Tobin, I saw him.”

“I know. I’m sorry he—” Tobin broke off. Tharin was right there, overhearing everything. How was he going to keep Ki from blurting out more?

But Ki was fading again. “What happened? Why—why does my head hurt?”

“You don’t remember?” asked Tharin.

“I the doll … I remember riding …” Ki trailed off again and for a moment Tobin thought he’d gone back to sleep. Then, eyes still closed, he whispered, “Did I find you, Tob? I don’t remember anything after I got to Alestun. Did you get the doll?”

Tharin pressed the back of his hand to Ki’s cheek and frowned. “He’s a bit warm.”

“Hungry,” Ki mumbled peevishly.

“Well, that’s a good sign.” Tharin straightened up. “I’ll fetch you some cider.”

“Meat.”

“We’ll start with cider and see how you do with it.”

“I’m sorry,” Ki rasped as soon as Tharin was gone. “I shouldn’t have said anything about—him.”

“It’s all right. Forget it.” Tobin sat on the edge of the bed and took Ki’s hand again. “Did Brother hurt you?”

Ki’s eyes went vague. “I—I don’t know. I don’t remember …” Then, abruptly, “How come you never told me?”

For one awful moment Tobin thought Ki had seen him with Lhel and Arkoniel, after all, and guessed his secret. He’d have blurted out the truth if Ki hadn’t spoken first.

“I wouldn’t have laughed, you know. I know it was your mother’s. But even if it was just some old doll, I’d never have laughed at you,” Ki whispered, eyes sad and full of questions.

Tobin stared down at their interlaced fingers. “The night Iya first brought you here, Brother showed me a vision. I saw the way people would look at me if they knew I had it.” He gestured helplessly. “I saw you and you—I was afraid you’d think badly of me if you knew.”

Ki let out a weak snort. “Don’t know that I’d believe anything he showed.” He looked around, as if fearing that Brother was listening, then whispered, “He’s a nasty thing, isn’t he? I mean, he’s your twin and all, but there’s something missing in him.” His fingers tightened on Tobin’s. “I didn’t understand why he wanted me to bring it before, but now—He thought it would make trouble between us, Tob. He’s always hated me.”

Tobin couldn’t deny that, especially after what had happened.

“I’d have come after you anyway, though,” Ki said, and a deep hurt crept into his voice. “Why’d you run off without me like that?”

Tobin clasped Ki’s hand with both of his. “It wasn’t like that! I thought I had plague. I was afraid I’d give it to you and Tharin and the others. All the way out here I was so scared it was already too late, that the deathbirds would nail you all up in the palace and—”

Tobin broke off in alarm as a tear trickled down Ki’s cheek.

“If you had been sick … If you’d gone off and died somewhere alone on the road … I couldn’t have stood it!” Ki whispered, voice quavering. “I’d just as soon die as live with the thought of it!” He clutched at Tobin’s hand. “Don’t you ever—Don’t!”

“I’m sorry, Ki. I won’t.”

“Swear it, Tob. Where you go, I go, no matter what. Swear it by the Four.”

Tobin shifted their right hands into the warrior’s clasp. “I swear it by the Four.”

Brother was wrong, he thought angrily. Or he lied to me, just for spite.

“Good. That’s settled.” Ki tried to turn his head and dry his cheek but couldn’t quite manage it. Tobin used the edge of the sheet to finish the job.

“Thanks,” Ki said, embarrassed. “So what did happen?”

Tobin told him what he could, though he had no idea how Ki had found his way to Lhel’s camp, and Ki still didn’t remember.

“Wonder what Old Slack Guts will have to say about all this?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain what happened. It wasn’t your fault.” Ki wasn’t strong enough yet to hear about the letter.

Satisfied for now, Ki closed his eyes. Tobin sat with him until he was certain his friend was asleep. When he tried to let go of his hand, however, Ki’s fingers closed tighter around his.

“I’d never a’made fun, Tob,” he mumbled, more asleep than awake. “Never would.” Another tear seeped out from under his lashes and trickled down toward his ear.

Tobin wiped it away with his finger. “I know.”

“Don’t feel so good. Cold … Climb in, would you?”

Tobin kicked off his shoes and climbed under the covers, trying not to jostle him. Ki muttered softly and turned his face Tobin’s way.

Tobin watched him sleep until his own eyes grew heavy. If Tharin did come back with the cider, Tobin didn’t hear him.

Arkoniel and Iya met Tharin in the hall and heard the good news. Arkoniel nearly wept with relief, both that Ki was awake at last and that he recalled nothing that would endanger his life. Whether that was thanks to Brother or Lhel, he didn’t care, so long as Ki was safe.

“I think I’ll sleep in Tobin’s bed tonight,” Tharin said, kneading his lower back ruefully. “I’ve had enough of chairs, and it’s certain Tobin won’t leave Ki.”

“You’ve earned a decent rest,” said Iya. “I believe I’ll do the same. Are you coming up, Arkoniel?”

“I’ll sit up awhile.”

“He’ll be fine,” she told him, giving him a reassuring smile. “Come up soon, won’t you?”

Tharin started after her toward the stairs, then turned to Arkoniel. “Do you know of anyone the boys call ‘Brother’?”

Arkoniel’s heart seemed to stop in his chest. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Just something Ki said as he came around. Something about someone’s brother giving him that doll. No?” He yawned mightily and ran his hand over his chin. “Well, he was still pretty groggy. His mind must have been wandering.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Iya said, slipping her arm through his and leading him to the stairs. “Or perhaps you heard wrong? Come along now, before we have to carry you up.”

Arkoniel waited until the household was asleep, then stole in to see the boys. Tobin had crawled into bed with Ki. Even asleep he looked sad and depleted, but Ki was smiling. As Arkoniel watched, Tobin stirred and groped for his friend’s shoulder, as if to assure himself that he was still there.

Arkoniel sank into the chair, not trusting his legs to hold him up. It was always worse at night, the memory of what he had done. And what he’d nearly done.

He’d relived that awful moment in the forest a hundred times over the past few days. Tossing on his bed at night, he saw Ki coming toward them through the trees, breaking into that ready smile of his as he caught sight of Tobin huddled over the spring, revealed in her true form. Ki raised his hand, waving to—who? Had he seen her, recognized her, or had it been Arkoniel he was greeting? Lhel had thrown a fur robe over Tobin, but had she been quick enough?

He’d clung to that crumb of doubt, even as he lifted his hand to keep the vow he’d made to Iya and Rhius the day they’d agreed to let another child come to the keep. He himself had told Iya the new companion should be a child no one would miss.

Yes, he’d meant to keep that vow and kill Ki, but his heart had betrayed him and marred the spell; he’d tried to change it to a blinding at the last moment and instead released an unfocused blast that had knocked Ki through the air as if he weighed no more than a handful of chaff. It would have killed him if Lhel hadn’t been there to coax his heart back to life. She’d claimed to take away whatever memories Ki might have had of seeing Tobin, too, weaving in their place vague memories of illness. If Arkoniel and Iya had only known such a thing were possible …

If only they hadn’t been too arrogant to ask.

Glad as he was that Ki lived, Arkoniel could not escape the truth; he’d failed in his duty by not killing Ki, just as he’d betrayed the boy by trying.

For years he’d told himself he was different than Iya and Lhel. Now it seemed his supposed compassion was instead simply weakness.

Ashamed, he slipped away to his lonely chamber, leaving the two innocents to a peace he might never know again.

Chapter 3

Ki was still too weak and dizzy to get up the next day, so Cook served Tobin’s belated name day cakes to them in the sickroom. Everyone crowded in and ate their portion standing. Nari presented Tobin with a new sweater and stockings she’d knitted, and Koni, their fletcher, gave him six fine new arrows. Laris had carved bone hunting whistles for him and Ki and Arkoniel shyly offered him a special pouch for carrying firechips.

“I’m afraid my gift for you is still in Ero,” Tharin told him.

“And mine,” said Ki around a mouthful of cake. His head was still mending but his appetite had recovered.

For the first time in a long time things began to feel safe and normal again. Tobin’s heart swelled as he looked around at the others laughing and talking. Except for Iya’s presence, it could have been any name day party he’d ever had.

By the next day Ki was well enough to be restless, but Nari wouldn’t hear of letting him out of the sickroom. He sulked and complained so much that she took his clothes away with her, just in case.

As soon as she was gone Ki climbed out of bed and wrapped himself in a blanket.

“There, at least I’m up,” he muttered. After a moment he began to feel sick again, but wouldn’t admit that Nari had been right. Fighting down nausea, he insisted on playing bakshi. After a few tosses, however, he began to see two of everything and let Tobin help him back into bed.

“Don’t tell her, will you?” he pleaded, closing his eyes. Trying to make the two Tobins frowning down at him join back into one made his head hurt.

“I won’t, but maybe you should listen to her.” Ki heard him settle in the chair by the bed. “You’re still looking peaked.”

“I’ll be all right tomorrow,” Ki said, willing it to be true.

The weather grew colder. Small sharp flakes drifted down from a hazy sky and the dead grass in the meadow sparkled with thick frost each morning.

Ki wolfed down all the broth and custard and baked apples Cook sent up, and was soon demanding meat. He continued to grumble at being shut in and made light of his condition, but Tobin knew he was far from his old self yet. He got tired suddenly, and his eyes still bothered him sometimes.

They grew bored with games long before Ki was strong enough to play at swords or go downstairs. Anxious to keep him quiet, Tobin arranged a nest of bolsters and blankets from him beside the toy city and they made a new game of tracing familiar routes through the city streets and trying to guess what the other Companions might be up to there.

Ki lifted off the roof of the box that served as the Old Palace and took the little golden tablet from its frame by the wood block throne. Tilting it to catch the light, he squinted at the tiny inscription there. “My eyes must be getting better. I can read this. ‘So long as a daughter of Thelátimos’ line defends and rules, Skala shall never be subjugated.’ You know, that’s the first time I’ve really looked at this since Arkoniel taught us to read.” His dark brows drew together as he frowned. “Did you ever think maybe it wouldn’t do you any good if your uncle knew about this? The one in the real throne room is gone, remember? My father claimed Erius melted it down when he destroyed all the stone copies that used to stand at crossroads.”

“You’re right.” In fact, Tobin had never considered the risk before; now the idea took on a more dire cast than it would have a month earlier. He looked around, wondering where he should put it for safekeeping. Dangerous it might be, but it was still a gift from his father.

And not just a gift, but a message. For the first time it occurred to him that the toy city had not been simply a child’s diversion; his father had been teaching him, readying him for the day—

“Tob, you all right?”

Tobin closed his hand around the tablet and stood up. “Yes, I was just thinking of my father.” He looked around again, then inspiration struck. “I know just the place.”

Ki followed him as he hurried back to his own room and threw open the clothes chest. He hadn’t touched the doll since he’d hidden it here, but fetched it out now and found a seam in its side with stitches long enough to slide the tiny tablet through. He pushed it in deep, then shook it to make certain it slipped down inside. When he’d finished he buried it again and grinned at Ki. “There. I’m used to hiding this already.”

The sound of hooves on the frozen Alestun road broke the winter quiet the following afternoon. Ki left off his bakshi toss and the boys hurried to the window.

“Another messenger from Lord Orun,” Tobin said, frowning at the yellow-liveried rider approaching the bridge. Sefus and Kadmen met him at the outer gate.

Ki turned to stare at him. “Another one? What did the last one want? Tobin?”

Tobin picked at a spot of lichen on the stone sill. “He wants me back in Ero, but Tharin sent word I was too sick to ride.”

“That’s all?”

“No,” Tobin admitted. “Orun said he was writing to the king again.”

“About me.”

Tobin nodded grimly.

Ki said nothing, just looked back out the window, but Tobin saw the worry in his eyes.

Tharin brought the news up to them. “The same as before. Your guardian is impatient for your return.”

“And to get rid of me,” said Ki.

“I’m afraid so.”

Ki hung his head. “This is my fault, isn’t it, Tharin? I gave him a reason. I should have gone to you as soon as I knew Tobin was missing. I don’t know why I listened—” He rubbed absently at the discolored lump on his forehead and gave Tobin a sorrowful look. “All I could think of was catching up with you. Now look what I’ve done!”

“I won’t let him send you away. What did this letter say, exactly?”

Tharin handed Tobin the folded parchment and he scanned it quickly. “He wants me to start back today! Ki can’t ride yet.”

Tharin gave him a humorless smile. “I doubt that’s of much concern to Lord Orun. Don’t worry, though. Nari’s down there explaining to the messenger how your fever is still too high for you to travel. You’d better keep to your room until he leaves. I wouldn’t put it past Orun to have sent us a spy.”

“Nor would I,” said Iya, looking in at the door. “Before you go into hiding, though, would you come upstairs? I’ve something to show you. Privately,” she added, as Ki started after him.

Tobin threw his friend an apologetic look as he followed her out.

“What is it?” he asked as soon as they were in the corridor.

“There are things we must speak of while there is still time.” She paused. “Bring the doll, please.”

Tobin did as she asked and they continued upstairs. Arkoniel met them in the workroom and to Tobin’s surprise, he was not alone. Lhel sat at the long table just behind him. Everyone looked very serious, but he was glad to see her, all the same.

“You have call Brother?” asked Lhel, and he guessed that she already knew the answer.

“No,” Tobin admitted.

“Call now.”

Tobin hesitated, then spoke the words in a nervous rush.

Brother appeared in the corner farthest from the door. He was thin and ragged, but Tobin could feel the cold power of his presence from across the room.

“Well, what do you think?” asked Iya.

Lhel squinted hard at Brother, then shrugged. “I tell you the binding stronger now. So he stronger, too.”

“I wonder if Ki is still able to see him?” murmured Arkoniel.

“I won’t have him around Ki.” Tobin turned angrily on the ghost. “I won’t call you at all, ever, unless you promise never to hurt him again! I don’t care what Lhel says!” He shook the doll at Brother. “Promise, or you can stay away and starve.”

Tobin saw a flicker of hatred in the ghost’s black eyes, but it was directed at the wizards, not at him.

“No one saw him in Tobin’s sickroom,” Iya was saying, as if she hadn’t noticed his outburst.

“Those have the eye see him more now,” said Lhel. “And he make others see when he wants.”

Tobin looked at Brother again, noting how the lamplight seemed to touch him the same way it did the rest of them; it never had before. “He looks more—real, somehow.”

“Be harder to put you apart, comes the time, but must be so.”

For a moment curiosity overcame his anger. “Come here,” he told the ghost. Tobin reached to touch him; but as always, his hand found only colder air. Brother grinned at him. He looked more like an animal baring its teeth.

“Go away!” Tobin ordered, and was relieved when the spiteful ghost obeyed. “Can I go now?”

“A moment more, if you please,” said Arkoniel. “You remember how I promised to teach you to guard your thoughts? It’s time we had that lesson.”

“But it’s not magic. You said so, remember?”

“Why do you fear magic so, Tobin?” asked Iya. “It’s protected you all these years. And wonderful things can be done with it! You’ve seen that for yourself. With a wave of my hand, I can make fire where there is no wood, or food in the wilderness. Why do you fear it?”

Because magic meant surprises and fear, sorrow and danger, Tobin thought. But he couldn’t tell them that; he didn’t want them to know what power they had over him. So he just shrugged.

“Many magics, keesa,” Lhel said softly, and he caught a flicker of the secret symbols on her cheeks. “You wise to be respecting. Some magic good, some evil. But we do no evil with you, keesa. Make you safe.”

“And this isn’t real magic, just a protection against it,” Arkoniel assured him. “All you have to do is imagine something very clearly, make a picture in your head. Can you imagine the sea for me?”

Tobin thought of the harbor at Ero at dawn, with the great trading ships riding at anchor and the small fishing boats bobbing around them like skimmer beetles.

He felt the briefest cool touch on his brow, but no one had moved.

Iya chuckled. “That was very good.”

“I tell you,” Lhel said.

Tobin opened his eyes. “That’s all?”

“That’s a beginning, and a very good one,” Arkoniel replied. “But you must practice as often as you can, and do it whenever Niryn or any of the Harriers notice you. The real trick is to not look like you’re thinking of something else.”

“Arkoniel used to screw his face up like he had a cramp,” Iya said, looking at him fondly, the way Nari looked at Tobin sometimes. “But you can’t always think of the same thing. It’s safest if you focus on something you’ve just been doing. For instance, if you’ve been hawking, think of jesses or wing markings, or the sound of the bells.”

Tobin tried again, thinking of the game he and Ki had been playing.

“Well done again!” Arkoniel said. “Just remember, though, that your best defense against Niryn and his kind lies in never giving them a reason to look into your head.”

Tobin’s apologies were carried back to Ero the following day. The boys watched from Ki’s window, sticking their tongues out at the retreating horseman.

Ki was finally well enough to escape Nari’s strictures and they spent the day wandering around the keep and visiting at the barracks. Ki wanted to visit Arkoniel, but the wizard didn’t answer his door.

Ki looked back over his shoulder as they walked away. The sight of that closed door left him oddly depressed. “Where do you suppose he could be?”

“He’s around,” Tobin said with a shrug. “What’s wrong? I just saw him yesterday.”

“I haven’t seen him since your name day party,” Ki reminded him. “I’m starting to think he’s avoiding me.”

Tobin punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Now why would he do that?”

Ki was surprised at how quickly his newfound energy deserted him. By midafternoon he was feeling weak again, and having spells of double vision. That frightened him, for Iya had assured him they would pass. The thought that she might be wrong was too frightening to contemplate. What good would a blind squire be to anyone?

As always, Tobin seemed to sense without being told how Ki felt and asked for an early supper upstairs.

That night they slept in Tobin’s room. Ki sighed happily as he sank back against the soft bolsters. Even if it was only for a few nights more, it was good to have things as they used to be. He hadn’t thought about Ero or his enemies among the Companions in days.

Tobin’s thoughts were running along similar lines as he watched the candle shadows dance overhead. Part of him missed Korin and the others, and the excitement of palace life. But Orun’s angry letters tainted all that. Not for the first time, he wished things were the way they used to be.

“This damn thing itches,” Ki grumbled, rubbing at his forehead. He turned his face for Tobin to see. “How does it look?”

Tobin pushed Ki’s soft brown hair back for a better look. A swollen, crusted gash two inches long still stood out over Ki’s right eye, just below the hairline. The lump was fading from purple to a nasty mottled green. “You must have hit a rock or something when you fell. Does it still hurt?”

Ki laughed up at him. “Don’t you start fussing over me! I’m worse off from being kept indoors so long. My old dad would never have stood for it, I can tell you.” He dropped back into the country accent he used to have. “ ’Less you got a broke leg or guts hanging out, you can damn well get out and tend to yer chores.”

“Do you still miss your family?”

Ki folded his hands across his chest. “Some of ’em, I guess. Ahra, and a couple brothers.”

“After we get things settled in Ero, we could go visit them,” Tobin offered. “I’d like to see where you come from.”

Ki glanced away. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You just wouldn’t.” He gave Tobin a quick grin. “Bilairy’s balls, I don’t want to go back there. Why would you?”

Tobin let it go; why shouldn’t Ki have a few secrets of his own and, anyway, that was all a long time ago. He pushed his fingers back through Ki’s hair, pretending to take a closer look at the wound. “Anyway, it should leave a good scar.”

“Not one to brag of, though,” Ki grumbled. “Think the girls would believe me if I said we met with Plenimaran raiders on the road, or bandits, maybe? I bet Una and Marilli would believe me.”

Tobin chuckled, but at the same time felt a familiar twinge of jealousy. He’d heard enough stories about his friend’s hot-blooded kin, and Ki already had an eye for anything in skirts.

Tobin’s own bashfulness in that regard had earned him his share of teasing among the Companions. Even Ki wasn’t above the occasional good-natured jibe. Everyone—including Tobin himself—had always put it down to his youth and natural shyness.

Until now.

Now, fingers still twined in Ki’s warm hair, Tobin had his first inkling of what that angry little knot in his belly might mean. He took his hand away and lay back, pulling the covers up under his chin.

I don’t like girls that way because I—

He threw an arm across his face to hide the rising blush burning his cheeks and used Arkoniel’s trick. He thought of Gosi’s rough winter coat, the feel of cold rain down his neck, the bite of his hawk’s talons on his fist—anything but the guilty heat coursing through him. Anything but the way his fingers remembered the weight of his friend’s soft hair.

I’m a boy! Ki would never—

Ki had gone quiet, and when Tobin dared lift his arm he found him frowning up at the rafters. After a moment he let out a long sigh.

“What about Orun? What if he does get your uncle to send me away this time?”

“I told you, I won’t let him.”

“Oh, I know.” Ki’s buck-toothed grin flashed as he caught Tobin’s hand in his, but he was worried. “I’ll tell you this, Tob; whatever happens, I’ll always stand by you, even if it’s only as a soldier in your guard.” He was dead serious now. “No matter what happens, Tobin, I’m your man.”

“I know that,” Tobin managed, caught between gratitude and guilt. “And I’m yours. Go to sleep now, before Nari comes in and makes you sleep next door.”

Orun countered with another messenger the next day and, without thinking, Tobin went to get the news. Tharin was with the man in the hall and looked up in surprise as Tobin clattered down the stairs. He was too distracted for the moment to register what that look meant.

Their visitor turned out to be a most unlikely courier. It was Orun’s own valet, Bisir. He was a meek, quiet fellow, pretty in the way that all the young men in Orun’s household were. With his big, dark eyes and soft, nervous hands, Bisir had always reminded Tobin of a hare. He was one of the few people in that household who was always pleasant to him and, more importantly, the only one who was polite to Ki.

“A letter for you from my lord Orun, Prince Tobin,” Bisir said, looking apologetic as he handed Tobin the sealed parchment. “And may I say, my prince, that it’s good to see you looking so well. Captain Tharin’s last letter gave my master to believe that your health might be in some danger.”

Too late Tobin realized his mistake. It would be no use writing back of ill health now. He opened the letter and saw it made no difference, anyway. Orun was threatening to bring him home by cart, if need be.

It’s all right,” Ki said, as Tobin fretted in their room. “I can ride now, really.”

Iya wasn’t so certain, however, and they went to bed that night in low spirits. Unable to sleep, Tobin sent up a half-formed plea to Sakor and Illior, then wondered if the gods ever heard a petition without the offering smoke to carry it.

When he woke the following morning the first thing he noticed was something white on the floor. It was snow. A shutter had come open and a little drift of it had piled on the rushes under the window. More was blowing in. Jumping out of bed, he dashed to the window and leaned out, laughing as the driven flakes peppered his cheeks.

The meadow was gone, lost behind thick, shifting curtains of white. He could just make out the angle of the barracks roof but the bridge was nothing but a dark blur beyond it.

He scooped up a handful of snow and tossed it at Ki to wake him. Evidently the gods had been feeling generous.

The blizzard lasted for three days, heaping snow halfway up the doorposts and trapping Bisir in with them. This presented certain complications. Iya had made herself known, but Arkoniel had to stay hidden upstairs in case Bisir decided to wander where he wasn’t wanted.

The young valet was awkward and ill at ease at first, clearly feeling out of place in this rude country household. There was nothing for him to do here, no one to serve. The women didn’t want him underfoot in the hall, so Koni and some of the younger guardsmen took charge of him and dragged him off to the barracks. Ki and Tobin watched from the top of the stairs as they all but carried him out. Surrounded by rough, coarse-spoken soldiers, Bisir looked like he was on his way to be hanged.

They didn’t see him again until breakfast the next day. Though uncharacteristically rumpled, he was actually laughing with Koni and the others, something Tobin had never seen the timid fellow do.

Even after the storm ended the roads were so choked with snow that for the present there was no question of travel. For three golden weeks they lived as if they’d never gone to Ero.

The snow kept them from riding, but they spent hours shooting, fighting snowball battles against the guardsmen, building whole squadrons of snowmen, and practicing their swordplay in the barracks. Koni somehow pulled Bisir into these pastimes, but the valet proved to be no warrior.

On those rare occasions when Ki and Tobin did manage to slip away unattended, they looked for Lhel at the edge of the forest, but the witch was either snowed in or refusing to show herself.

Ki grew strong again, but still had trouble seeing clearly sometimes when he was shooting. He thought about going to Tharin but instead ended up at Iya’s door one night after Tobin was asleep. Once there, fear made it hard to tell her what the matter was. Iya was kind, seating him by her fire and giving him spiced wine. When he finally blurted out what the matter was, she seemed relieved.

“You eyes, is it? Well, let’s see what I can do.” Iya bent over him and pressed a hand to his brow. She said nothing for a few minutes, just stood there with her eyes half-closed, as if she was listening inside his head. Ki felt a tingling coldness against his skin; it tickled a little, but it felt good, too.

“You never told me you were a healer.”

“Oh, I know a thing or two,” she murmured.

Whatever she was doing, she soon seemed satisfied. “I wouldn’t fret about it. That knock on the head is still mending. I’m sure this will pass.”

“I hope so. When we get back—”

“You’ll have to prove your worthiness all over again,” she guessed, wise as always. “Your worth is known to your friends, and you won’t change the minds of your enemies no matter what you do.”

“My friends,” Ki murmured, thinking of Arkoniel. No matter what Tobin or anyone else said, Arkoniel was avoiding him. He’d done no more than peek in at the doorway when Ki lay sick, and they’d hardly seen each other since. It hurt. Ki had always liked the wizard, even when he was forcing him to learn reading and writing. This sudden, unexplained coolness between them was hard to bear.

He had not dared ask Tharin about it, scared of what the answer might be. But now he couldn’t hold back any longer. Iya knew Arkoniel better than anyone else. “Is Arkoniel angry with me for letting Tobin run off?”

Iya arched an eyebrow at him. “Angry? Why would you think that? You know he can’t risk being seen by our houseguest.”

“He was avoiding me before Bisir got here.”

“He asks after you all the time.”

Ki blinked. “He does?”

“Certainly.”

“But I never see him.”

Iya smoothed her hands down the front of her robe. “He’s been busy with some spell he’s working on. That takes up much of his time.”

Ki sighed. That hadn’t stopped Arkoniel from sending for Tobin, just not for him.

Iya must have seen the doubt in his eyes, or maybe she touched his mind to read it, for she smiled. “Don’t worry about this, my dear. Your illness frightened him more than he likes to admit. Perhaps he has an odd way of showing it, but he cares for you a great deal. I’ll speak to him.”

Ki rose and gave her a grateful bow. He was still too much in awe of her to hug her. “Thank you, Mistress. I’d be awfully sad if he didn’t like me anymore.”

Iya surprised him with a soft touch on his cheek. “You mustn’t ever think that, child.”