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  The spiderguild was broken. The silk monopoly was all but destroyed. Farsobalinti’s Order of the Octolaris now made sense. Liantines chattered among themselves and Morenians cried out questions, desperately seeking information about the gifts and their meaning.

  Hal waited for the furor to die down, and then he said to Mareka, “My thanks, lady. Your gift is a generous one, and it will be spoken about in Morenia for generations. And now I ask what boon would you request, in exchange for the offering you have made.”

  The crowd edged forward, eager to hear Mareka’s response. The woman who had broken the spiderguild’s hold could demand anything in the world. She could ask for a king’s ransom, and it would certainly be hers.

  Mareka unlaced her fingers, laid them to rest across her belly. She took a deep breath, as if she gathered strength from the sparkling spidersilk beneath her fingers, and then she raised her eyes to look at him directly. “Your hand in marriage, Sire. I ask that you raise up the mother of your child and set her beside you on your throne. Marry me, Your Majesty, and make the child that I bear – your child – your heir.”

  Hal’s cry of outrage was drowned by Teheboth’s. The Holy Father bellowed a question, and even the Horned Hind priestess stepped forward on the dais. The crowd surged closer, those nearest to the platform repeating Mareka’s words for those who stood further away.

  Mareka looked at him unwaveringly, her fingers spread protectively, suggestively.

  One time, he wanted to cry out. One cursed time!

  But he knew Mareka was no fool. He knew that she would not make her claim if she bore no child. She would submit herself to any proof, agree to drink any truthteller’s potion.

  He would lose Berylina. He would lose the Liantine dowry. He would fail to repay the church. After all of his planning, all of his manipulations, all of his careful, careful calculation, he would forfeit the power of his crown to the Holy Father.

  The snare of the octolaris nectar had a longer reach than Hal had ever imagined.

  Even as his mind reeled, even as he sought to phrase some answer, some denial, some refusal, he raised his eyes to Berylina’s pavilion. How would the princess react? She would be ashamed, of course, and angry. But could she fail to be relieved? Could she fail to be grateful that she was released from her obligations? Even now, the door to Berylina’s tent was pulled aside, even now she was emerging – at last – to face the man who she thought was her bridegroom.

  But Berylina did not step out of the tent.

  Shalindor emerged instead. The chamberlain stumbled out of the pavilion, running back to the wedding guests, to the edge of the forest. He lost one slipper in the grass, and still he lurched ahead, throwing himself through the crowd, up to the dais.

  “The princess is gone!” Shalindor cried. “Princess Berylina is gone!”

  Chapter 17

  Rani whirled toward the chamberlain, making out his scarlet face as he fought his way to the front of the dais. The impeccable retainer’s hair stood out from his head in wisps, and his hands shook as he stumbled before his king.

  “What are you saying, man?” Teheboth bellowed.

  “They’re gone!”

  “Who? Berylina and who?”

  “That western priest. Siritalanu. The nurses have been drugged, and now they are tied up, all four of them, bound and gagged.”

  Teheboth roared in fury and rounded on Hal. “I don’t know what you thought to gain by this, but you will pay!”

  Rani could see that Hal was every bit as surprised as Teheboth. The king of all Morenia looked about him as if he had just awakened from a dream. He opened his mouth and closed it again, obviously struggling for appropriate words, for a proper retort. Helplessly, he gestured toward Berylina’s tent, and then to Mareka Octolaris, who still stood before him in all the finery of her spiderguild. “My lord,” Hal managed at last. “I know nothing of this matter. I am as surprised as you.”

  Teheboth swore succinctly, the oath of a frustrated, angry man. Before Hal could react, the Liantine king turned on his heel and stormed through the crowd, striding across the field to the princess’s tent. Rani turned to Mair.

  “What happened?”

  “I dinna know, but I can imagine.” Mair’s Touched patois coated her voice as she glanced about excitedly. “Th’ wee mouse ’ad more t’ ’er than we thought!”

  “But where would she go?”

  “If I ’ad t’ guess, I’d say t’ th’ docks. I’d say that she’s on a boat right now, ’er ’n’ that priest. She’s sailin’ fer Morenia, ’n’ prayin’ that th’ Thousand Gods ’ll keep ’er safe from ’er da.”

  “From her ‘da’ and from her intended,” Farso said, nodding toward Hal. The king, though, was engaged in a furious whispered confrontation with Mareka Octolaris. His hand had closed on the woman’s arm, and he towered over her. Her simple white shift and her straight falling hair made her look more like a child than ever before.

  Rani knew at once that the spiderguild apprentice’s claims must be true; Hal had as much as admitted he had been with the woman. But how had he let himself be trapped in the age-old bonds of fatherhood? Certainly he needed an heir to his throne, but he should have known that a foreign commoner would never meet with his lords’ approval. He should have been more careful.

  As if to underscore Rani’s thoughts, the crowd was murmuring behind her, the chatter of their questions rapidly rising in volume. She heard exclamations of amazement and surprise, of disdain. Puladarati was bellowing for order, already gathering up the core of Morenia’s knighthood. Liantine lords had begun to cross the field, stumbling toward the princess’s pavilion. Hal needed to follow them, needed to make his own arguments now, before it was too late.

  Setting her teeth, Rani stepped forward, placing herself on the edge’s of Hal’s vision.

  “By Nome,” Hal was saying to Mareka, swearing by the god of children, “You could have come to me, Mareka!”

  “And what would you have done, then? Would you have called off your wedding? Would you have set aside Princess Berylina?”

  “I would have considered all my options! I would have measured right and wrong.”

  “And you would have questioned every man in King Teheboth’s court, to find if someone else could be the father. You know the truth already, though. You know I knew no man before you.”

  Rani watched as Hal spluttered a reply, and she felt color rising in her own cheeks. The argument that she listened to was far too similar to one that she had longed to have with Hal herself, to one that she had imagined often in the long years that she had spent in the Morenian court. Rani clutched at the fabric of her crimson gown, gathering up the spidersilk in tight fists. The feel of the cloth reminded her of the truth, of how so many things had changed.

  For just a moment, she glanced at Tovin Player. He was watching her. He was standing in the middle of the chaos, a calm smile painted across his lips, as if – even at that distance – he knew what she thought. He knew her good thoughts and her evil ones, and still he stood there, waiting for her to return. And yet, what did she truly know of him? How could she truly measure his intentions? He had done no ill by her, not yet. No ill at all. … She flushed and raised her chin, nodding once. A comforting warmth flooded her limbs as Tovin returned the gesture.

  Then, Rani cleared her throat and stepped between Hal and Mareka. “Sire,” she said.

  “Not now, Rani.”

  “Yes, now, my lord. You must go with Teheboth. You must seek out the truth of what happened in Berylina’s tent. Do not let him tell the story as he sees fit.”

  Hal started to snap at her, but Rani saw him catch the words at the back of his throat. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for several heartbeats. When he exhaled, long and slow, he stood to his full height, throwing back his shoulders. His crimson cloak caught the glint of the sunlight, reflecting color onto his pale cheeks. “Yes, Rani. Ranita.” But then he looked at Mareka again. “We will finish th
is talk, my lady.”

  The spiderguild apprentice collapsed into a curtsey, her only concession to her delicate condition a single hand cupped about her belly. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Hal looked as if he were going to say more, as if he had swallowed some bitter seed that he longed to spit out. Instead, he sought Puladarati in the crowd. “My lord duke!”

  “Your Majesty.” Puladarati’s reply was immediate, grave, flawlessly polite.

  “Stay here beside the gold. We must make sure that the excitement does not lead to … mistakes in the counting of such gifts.”

  “Aye, Sire.” Puladarati turned to four of his fellow councilmen, appointing them to stand at the corners of the wain. “Go ahead, Your Majesty. We will watch over the field.”

  Hal strode after Teheboth with all the determination of a general in the midst of battle. Rani took one look at her companions and then she followed her king. Her friends were close behind.

  They had to fight their way into the princess’s pavilion, elbowing past the restless crowd. Teheboth was towering over the oldest of Berylina’s nurses, bellowing questions at the woman. She knelt upon the floor of the pavilion, looking up at him dazedly. She tossed her head as if she heard a ringing in her ears, and she blinked her eyes with every few words. Teheboth took a step closer. “Speak up, woman! I cannot hear a word you say!”

  “I – I am sorry, Your Majesty.” The nurse’s words were slurred. “I cannot think straight, my head feels like it’s floating.”

  “I’ll show you floating!” the Liantine king grumbled, and he reached for the sword hilt at his waist. A ripple went through the crowd, a whispered exclamation, and Hal leaped forward.

  “Hold, my lord! Let me try to speak to this good woman.”

  Teheboth clearly thought to ignore Hal at first, but then he muttered a curse and stepped back. “Do your best, if you can make any sense out of her. She’s babbling like a goose.”

  Hal came to stand before the nurse. For just an instant, he looked at Berylina’s other three attendants, but those women remained stretched out on a pallet on the far side of the tent. Only the faintest motion of their chests confirmed that they still lived, that they still drew breath despite their drugged sleep.

  Shaking his head, Hal pitched his voice low, soft enough that Rani was forced to catch her own breath to overhear his words. “Come now, dame. What happened here? Where is Princess Berylina?”

  The nurse looked about the tent, clearly puzzled by the disarray. Her gaze settled on the brilliant wedding gown that was still laid out across the princess’s bed. In keeping with Liantine tradition, the garment was velvet, deep, golden finery that reflected the shadows of sunlight on moving leaves. Branchwork was picked out across the shoulders, delicate embroidery that echoed the marriage bench Hal had sat on.

  “We arrived with my lady at dawn this morning,” the nurse began, a puzzled tone behind her words. “The princess was frightened, poor dear, and she insisted on setting up her easel.”

  Rani followed the woman’s floating gesture, looked across the tent to the wooden stand. A scrap of parchment was pinned to the surface, and firm charcoal lines stood out, even in the gloom. Rani recognized the outline of a golden cup, the swirl of a cape limned in a thousand colors. First God Ait. The father of all the Thousand Gods.

  Hal nodded toward the drawing. “So, you let her draw.”

  “Aye. It seemed to soothe her, poor thing. She was so frightened. So afraid. But she was more at peace when he arrived.”

  “Who?” Hal’s voice was mild, as if he were merely chatting with the woman. Rani saw Teheboth shift in frustration.

  The nurse scowled, and for a moment, she looked as if she would not respond to the westerner questioning her. She continued, at last. “Father Siritalanu, of course. He said he’d come to pray with her, just as they have prayed every day.”

  “Just –” Hal started to repeat, apparently surprised, but he caught himself. Rani saw the quick glance he cast at Dartulamino; she understood that Hal was wondering if Siritalanu had been put up to this disappearance by the Holy Father, by the church he served. Dartulamino, though, looked just as surprised as Hal. Rani nodded to herself. Whatever had happened here, Dartulamino had not planned it. Neither the church nor the Fellowship had plotted Berylina’s escape.

  “Aye,” the nurse said. “He told her it was a western custom. He said that she would never be acceptable to you if she did not pray to all the Thousand Gods. She was eager to behave, poor thing. She would have done anything the priest asked.”

  This last admission proved too much for Teheboth, for a man who thought that he had saved his daughter from other ways of worship. “So what did that dog do to her?” the Liantine demanded, shouldering forward.

  The nurse dropped her head, nearly prostrating herself in an effort to pacify her king. “I do not know, Your Majesty, I cannot say! Please do not hurt me, I cannot tell you more, I truly cannot!”

  Hal eased himself between Teheboth and the nurse. “And why can you not say more?”

  “The priest! He – he drugged me! All of us – he gave us nurses a cup of wine. He said that it was necessary, that it was how you westerners. …” She trailed off, as if she feared to cast aspersions on the man who stood between her and her furious lord, and then she managed to whisper, “how you began your wedding ceremonies. How you honored your gods.”

  Hal sighed. “And so you drank.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And then you fell asleep.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  While the nurse delivered her trembling confession, Rani maneuvered her way along the edge of the tent, toward the princess’s easel. There was something about the edge of the drawing, something about the corner of the artwork. … There! Rani reached out and touched the parchment, freeing a note that had been pinned to the easel beneath the drawing. Whoever had left the message did not intend for it to be found immediately.

  “Your Majesty,” Rani called. She crossed to Hal and handed him the message.

  “That is Berylina’s hand!” exclaimed the nurse.

  Hal unfolded the parchment, tilting it to catch a better stream of light from the doorway. “Father,” he began to read. He looked up to Teheboth, raising an eyebrow and half-offering the letter. The king of Liantine, though, shook his head once, a grim rejection, and Hal swallowed before he continued to read aloud. “Father, I know you will be displeased when you find this letter. I know that you intended to honor me with marriage to King Halaravilli. I am not meant for marriage to any man, though. I am pledged to all the Thousand Gods. Please do not be angry, Sire. I go with Father Siritalanu, to the birthplace of First Pilgrim Jair. I go to find the voices of the gods who have spoken to me all my life. I go to escape your false goddess of the Horned Hind, to find the true and everlasting secret of the Thousand Gods. Your daughter forever, Berylina Thunderspear.”

  Teheboth’s cry of rage was wordless – raw, elemental fury. Before Rani could read his intention, before she could warn Hal or take any action herself, the Liantine king shifted his grip on his spear. He bellowed as he pulled it back, and then he thrust the iron tip into the hapless nurse’s breast. As he drove the weapon home, he howled, “You did this! You and your sisters, determined to protect her from the Horned Hind!”

  The motion was so sudden, the blow so direct, that the woman did not have time to cry out. She raised her hands as if she were warding off a blow, and then her fingers scrambled about the shaft of the spear. She opened her lips, and Rani thought her dying words would be a protest, but only a trickle of blood emerged.

  Even as the nurse collapsed back to the ground, even as her blood began to pool upon the spidersilk beneath her, Hal leaped forward with a cry of outrage. “That was wrong, my lord!” he exclaimed. “That poor woman was not the cause of this disaster.”

  “If she had guarded my daughter’s virtue as she was charged to do, none of this would have happened!”

  “Your da
ughter’s virtue is yet unsullied!”

  “My daughter has run off with a heathen dog. She’s fled to rut with your priest, and if you were any sort of a man, you’d hunt her down and kill her like the strumpet that she is!”

  “Hold your tongue, Thunderspear.” Hal’s voice was pure winter, bitter ice that hissed against Teheboth’s rage. “Do not say more that you’ll regret.”

  “My only regret is that I did not see my daughter’s failings more clearly before. I knew she told tales of your cursed western gods, but I thought that she would hold true to the ways of her people. I thought that she would yield to the wisdom of the Horned Hind once she had submitted to a man.” Teheboth slammed his fist into his gloved palm, letting his rage carry him around the princess’s wedding pavilion. He knocked Berylina’s easel to the ground, mashing her drawing of First God Ait beneath his boots, and he glared at the still-drugged trio of nurses. “Her eyes marked her from the day that she was born, her eyes, and her jaw, and her cursed, blasted shyness. She killed her dam, and she was marked for evil the instant she drew her first breath.”

  “She is the flesh of your flesh, Thunderspear.”

  “She is outcast! She is dead to this house.” Teheboth whirled about, tossing his head until his eyes lit upon his chamberlain, Shalindor. “You! See to this mess! Have those women cast in chains, and see that this pavilion is burned to the ground. Then be certain that the dowry gold is returned to my treasury.”

  The dowry gold. The ingots that stood between Hal and the church. Teheboth could not take back Berylina’s bride price.

  “Hold!” Rani cried.

  Her voice was high, spinning out across the tent like a tentative web. She cleared her throat, flashing back to the players, to their tricks for making themselves heard in a grand hall. Rani reached inside her memories, gathered together the strength that she had known when she had Spoken with Tovin, with Flarissa. A kingdom depended on the words she uttered next, and she must not risk it by talking too softly, by being too meek.