Queen of Thorns Page 2

  "What're you doing after this little shindig, sweetheart?"

  My hand tightened on the pommel of my sword as I saw that Radovan had sidled up to the impudent servant—whom I now saw in a surprising new light.

  Just as those struck by Prince Amarandlon's arrows appeared as two beings at once, so did she. Beneath the servant's mask I saw another face, this more stately than mischievous. Her real eyes were the color of amethysts. Three faint scars upon her cheek heightened rather than marred her austere beauty. Upon her brow she wore a silver circlet in the shape of vines set with tiny purple gems.

  A lump of fear dammed my throat. Recalling a letter I had once received from the Chelish ambassador to Kyonin, I glanced up to spy a hawk perched upon a branch of the wine-tree. It returned my gaze with keen intelligence. It was no mere bird, but a wizard's familiar.

  A very particular familiar.

  I stepped out of the elven woman's view and showed Radovan the sign for danger: Stop.

  He didn't notice. I signaled again, this time with enough vigor to alarm Arnisant, who supported my efforts with a hearty woof.

  "Because I'm not doing anything," said Radovan, either oblivious to my efforts or pretending so. He reached for the woman's hand. "And if you aren't doing anything, maybe we could do it together."

  "Alas," said the woman, withdrawing her hand. "I have a previous engagement."

  "Maybe I could show you a few things that this previous engage—"

  "Radovan!" My bodyguard was on the brink of causing the worst possible breach of international diplomacy. I gripped my sword tighter than ever.

  He shot me an irritated glance, then noticed my alarm and frowned, perplexed. He stepped away from the woman. "Some other time."

  "Some other time," she agreed. Both the illusion of a maid and the woman beneath it smiled.

  "Radovan, I need you to attend that matter we discussed."

  "Oh, yeah. That matter. I'll just—" Something behind me caught his eye. I turned to see an elf woman masked as a fox. She fled the crowd in the center of the dance floor and took shelter behind the wine tree. She tilted her head at Radovan. At his wink, she shook her bushy red tail.

  "I'll get right on it," said Radovan. He fairly skipped toward the fox-woman, who darted away. He donned his wolf mask and gave chase.

  Arnisant whined again, wishing to join the hunt. I forbade him, and he settled, silent at my heel.

  "Your man has certainly embraced the spirit of the festivities."

  "I pray he has not offended you." Realizing the impropriety of touching the hilt of my sword in her presence, I removed it. The double-image of the woman resolved into that of the servant alone.

  The Shadowless Sword was so named for its swiftness, or so I had assumed. Disheartened by the circumstances of our departure from Tian Xia, I had not yet studied the full extent of its enchantment. I let my hand brush the hilt once more. Once again, I saw two images of the woman before me.

  "Your Majesty!" Amarandlon rushed toward me, dropping his bow and drawing his sword.

  A few other guests shouted, but the sound of alarm differed little from the cries of the mock hunt.

  Arnisant pushed between me and Amarandlon.

  "Arnisant, down!" The hound dropped to the floor, eyes locked on the elf menacing me. I stepped away from the woman and raised my hands—whereupon once more I saw only the illusion, not her true appearance.

  "Stay your hand, Prince Amarandlon." With a flourish, the woman dispelled her guise and revealed herself as Queen Telandia Edasseril, monarch of Kyonin. Gossamer of white and violet flowed down her lithe figure, the train of her gown floating just above the floor as if suspended by a river current. In the crook of her arm she held a green oak staff, the gnarled fingers of its crest curling around yet not touching a walnut-sized emerald suspended between them. Even without the benefit of a spell, I sensed the arcane power radiating from the stone, but it was Telandia's royal presence that bent my knee.

  "You will forgive our ruse, Count Jeggare." The queen gestured for me to rise. "And we shall forgive your giving away our disguise so early in the evening."

  I bowed again, this time in the fashion of Cheliax. "I beseech Your Majesty to pardon my bodyguard's disgraceful behavior."

  "Your bodyguard's?" The mischief of her former guise twinkled in her purple eyes. "Do not fear for our dignity on that point. We are advised that we have a little brass."

  The lump in my throat turned to stone. Never had I so thoroughly humiliated myself before such an august personage.

  "My apologies if I frightened you." Amarandlon's voice rumbled beneath his stag helm.

  "Not at all." While I resented his part in my embarrassment, I could hardly blame him for coming to the aid of his monarch.

  "We value your vigilance, Prince Amarandlon," said Telandia. Her familiar dropped from the wine-tree to perch upon her staff's head. "And your loyalty."

  Amarandlon bowed. I sensed something practiced in their exchange, but flustered as I was, I could not decipher its meaning.

  "Since we can no longer speak in anonymity, Count Jeggare," said the queen, "we shall rely on the reports of our trusted counselors in weighing the merits of your petition."

  "Your Majesty—" I began, but she had already turned away.

  Amarandlon signaled his man as we retired to a secluded corner of the plaza.

  "Your Highness, I assure you that I intended no threat to Her Majesty."

  "No, of course not." He received a pair of wine goblets from his man, who arrived with one of the white hounds at heel. Amarandlon handed me one goblet and watched me drink it before handing me the second. He removed his helm.

  The elf prince stood a hand taller than I, who am accustomed to looking down at my fellow Chelaxians. His hair was as black as mine, but longer and braided with clever knots. Although we had never met, I knew his face. The celebrated Ranger Prince of Kyonin appeared in paintings throughout the noble houses of Egorian.

  Amarandlon indicated his servant. "My master of the hunt, Caladrel Nirthanya."

  "Your Excellency." Caladrel bowed in the Chelish manner, but without the flourishes of recent vogue. His seamless face was tan beneath hair the color of corn silk, but I perceived no clue as to his age except that he seemed younger than Amarandlon and Queen Telandia, the latter of whom I knew to be the prince's niece. Considering the longevity of elves, Caladrel's last visit to Cheliax might have occurred before my birth. I returned his courtesy.

  Our hounds eyed each other but remained seated. Caladrel looked at Arnisant, then to me for permission. I nodded. We released the dogs from their commands to heel. They snuffled each other at either end before settling back into place.

  "Do not feel too badly," said Amarandlon. "The queen relies on illusion to gather information and secure her safety. Sometimes, unfortunately, this tactic causes more confusion than security."

  "It was entirely my fault," I said. "I was surprised. Some unexpected property of my sword allowed me to see through her disguise."

  "'Some unexpected property'?"

  "Indeed."

  "But I am informed you are a wizard of considerable talent. How can you not know the powers of your own weapon?"

  While I had studied magic for many decades, only recently had I overcome the handicap that prevented me from casting spells. Misadventure deprived me of my spellbook the previous spring. I had spent months learning new magic from foreign scrolls and had only recently consolidated them into a new grimoire. The story of the Shadowless Sword was even more involved, so I simplified my answer: "It is a recent acquisition."

  "Tian?"

  "You have a keen eye, Prince Amarandlon." I handed him the sword in its scabbard.

  He examined the ornamentation. "Mainland, of course, and I will venture to say from Imperial Lung Wa before the dissolution." He unsheathed the blade and admired the thousand tiny characters graven in the steel. "Forty-fifth century?"

  "Tian scholars would say—"

&nb
sp; "Seventieth," we finished together.

  "Of course," he nodded. "Naturally, the Tian calendar does not start with the founding of Absalom."

  "Have you traveled to Tian Xia?"

  "Only through books and the reports of our emissaries," he said. "My charge is to protect Iadara. To that end, I study every chronicle of war."

  "Surely you do not expect war to come to Kyonin."

  "We have been at war since the moment we returned through the Sovyrian Stone," he said. "Or do you forget the Lord of the Blasted Tarn?"

  I knew the conflict he spoke of. Ten millennia ago, the elves fled our world of Golarion to escape the ravages of Earthfall, when the Starstone plummeted to earth and rang calamity across the world. Just over two thousand years ago, the demon known as Treerazer attempted to capture their last remaining passage to this world. The armies of Kyonin streamed back through the gate to secure the portal to Golarion, driving the abyssal hordes out of their capital, but not out of their country. "I understood that the demon is contained."

  Amarandlon shook his head. "Only held at bay. His forces range daily out of Tanglebriar. Only the endless vigil of rangers like Caladrel keeps them from our doorstep."

  Caladrel bowed to acknowledge his master's praise. "Despite our best efforts, the demons creep nearer every day. From the prince's owl, you could spy a grove where just last month we stopped a mob of scouts. If only we had your Chelish talent for entreating the fiends to truce."

  I winced. Since the rise of the House of Thrune, my native land has bound itself to the forces of Hell. While I eschew diablerie so far as the obligations of my rank permit, demons are by far the worse abomination.

  "There can be no question of treating with them," I said with some heat. "Demons are creatures of chaos, not law. You must drive them not only from your city but from this world. They must be obliterated."

  Amarandlon stared at me. His dark irises made unreadable pits of his eyes. At last he nodded. "I wish more members of our court shared your clear and passionate understanding of the issue. But enough of history and politics. I am told you desire permission to seek the crafter of your renowned carriage."

  "That was indeed my purpose." After its fall from the Senir Bridge, the ruins of my father's legacy lay for six seasons within a Greengold warehouse. "I fear my impropriety may have deprived me of the queen's consent."

  "Not at all, Count Jeggare. Her Majesty said that she would rely upon the report of her most trusted counselor. I assure you that report will be favorable."

  Chapter Two

  The Third Sting

  Radovan

  Kim— Kem—? Hey, girl. Where'd you go?" I'd lost her name in the hubbub of the party. Now I'd lost the elf herself in the shadows between the trees and towers of Iadara. I can see right through most dark, so that meant magic.

  "Kemeili!" She corrected me from behind a pair of stone angels linking hands to form an arch. She sounded irate, but I still liked my chances.

  I moved through the gate. The statues weren't really angels, but one of those twin images of Desna. The goddess's butterfly wings were thin as parchment, a few pockmarked spots letting starlight through the stone. The gate and surrounding hedges formed a little garden. In the middle, a half-dozen or so elves encircled a bonfire. One threw a handful of what looked like sand into fire, setting sparks dancing above the flames. The rest stood away from the fire, paired off, hands entwined, faces close.

  Past them, I saw a shrub move and heard Kemeili's laughter. I kissed my thumb and drew Desna's wings over my heart. Lady Luck, smile on me, you sweetheart, you.

  Past the garden, the path looked more accident than plan. Even the statues seemed abandoned, like they'd been dropped by lazy porters on their way to a museum.

  Stalking Kemeili through the maze got my blood pumping—not that I wasn't ready the moment we snuck away. I'd been ready for weeks, ever since I got my pretty body back after a year stuck in a devil's big bag of bones.

  The elf girl—I knew she was older than me, but she looked plenty younger—ran off whenever I pushed through the bushes, going quiet whenever I stopped. She'd played this game before.

  I shook a branch and listened. Her footsteps retreated on the other side of a high hedge. A couple months back, I could have jumped the wall and landed right behind her. These days I had to rely on my sneakitude.

  In the back of my mind, I wondered whether that was a word. I put up with the boss's grammar lessons to keep his mind off those Pathfinder mucky-mucks back in Absalom. When we finally got back from the last job they'd given him, he asked why they'd sent us halfway around the world. Whatever they'd said to him, he didn't like it one bit.

  Worse, they'd handed over his agents to other venture-captains since he'd been gone so long. Maybe he kept his cool in front of them, but when we were alone he hit the ceiling. Afterward, it was all I could do just to keep him off the sauce. He gets to drinking way too much when somebody hurts his feelings.

  After we blew out of Absalom, the first thing the boss wanted to do was fetch his busted carriage, which we'd left in a Kyonin port over a year ago. He got permission to enter, and we found the place was pretty much one gigantic forest, except for a town where gnomes lived in tree houses above the elves, and then Iadara with its magic fog and shadows.

  I circled around to where I reckoned Kemeili was hiding. Her foot cracked a twig. I crept toward the sound and heard her let go of the breath she'd been holding. Easing around a broken column, I saw her crouched in its shadow.

  Most elf women were taller than me, but Kemeili was a bitty little thing. She couldn't have weighed much more than my left leg. My devil vision let me see her only in shades of gray, but I'd already seen that her hair matched her red fox outfit. We'd dumped the masks as soon as we left the party. I'd climbed up to hang my wolf mask on the face of a statue. She'd laughed and made him a codpiece out of hers.

  If she knew I was right behind her, she didn't let on. The temptation to grab her grew stronger. I can resist almost anything else, just not that.

  She screamed and wiggled around in my arms. Instead of pushing away, she grabbed my hair and pulled herself up for a kiss. Just as her lips brushed mine, she stopped and felt my ears between her finger and thumb.

  "How can you hear anything? They're so small!"

  "That ain't what a guy likes to hear."

  "They're cute." She bit me hard on the earlobe.

  "Ow!" I let go, and she sprinted away.

  I chased her up a hill shaped like a loaf of bread. On the crest lay a long pool lined with blue-white columns. The moonlight made ghosts of all the colors of the city. The slim towers and fragile bridges were all pretty much the opposite of the heavy red-veined black looming all over my home town of Egorian.

  By the time I caught up with her, Kemeili had her slippers off and dandled her feet in the water. I pulled off my fancy new kickers and set them far from the water's edge before joining her. A current tickled at my toes, but I couldn't see any source. There had to be magic feeding the pool. You'd think I'd be used to spells since the boss got over his spellcasting problem. I'd just never seen so much magic in one place.

  Kemeili leaned against my arm and pointed down the other side of the hill. "There's the temple of Calistria, where I was raised."

  The temple dome looked like a fat onion with a hole near its tip. It pointed off to one side like the little observatory on top of the boss's house. As I watched, a big bug flew near, clung near the hole, and crawled in. It took me a second to realize that the thing had to be the size of a pony. When I saw an elf slip off the bug's back, I whistled low.

  "Temple patrol," said Kemeili, squeezing my knee. She found the hard bone of my kneecap and felt it the way women do when they discover the little differences in me. Except for my elbow spurs, most you can barely notice so long as I don't smile.

  "You're a priestess?" I nibbled her arm—not too hard, since a little nibble from me goes a long way.

  "No, not a prieste
ss." She raised her shoulders. "That tickles!"

  I lifted the sleeve of her blouse and found a tattoo of a wicked-looking bug. "What, were you a temple beekeeper?"

  "It's a wasp. Don't you have wasps in Cheliax?"

  "Sure, but we ride the horses." Well, other guys ride horses. I stay out of their way.

  "Wasps are sacred to Calistria," she said. "Unlike a bee, which dies after using its sting, a wasp lives on to strike again and again."

  "Zzzt!" I poked a finger between her breasts. Her skin was softer than the fabric of her clothes. "So what did you do? Cook? Housekeeper? Don't tell me: you kept the ledgers."

  "I worked in the temple brothel."

  "How's the what?"

  "For years I had the honor of serving as a sacred prostitute of Calistria."

  Thank you, Desna.

  "Does that trouble you? Some outsiders find the sacrament of lust distasteful."

  "Oh, it don't bother me. Say, you got any other tattoos?" I let my finger slide down the crevice between her breasts.

  "Two." She plucked my finger out of her blouse and guided it to her other shoulder. I lifted her sleeve and turned her for a better view. At first I took it for the spiral of Pharasma, Lady of Graves, but it was just a tattoo of a coiled whip.

  She stood and looped an arm around my wrist. "Do you want to see my third tattoo?"

  I rose with her. "Oh, yeah. I definitely want to see that."

  She turned my hand, levered my wrist, and flipped me into the pool. She wasn't strong, but she knew where to twist.

  I surfaced, spitting water. "Damn it, girl, this is a new jacket!" The red leathers had cost me a fortune even before the enchantments. I should have sprung for the waterproofing.

  Kemeili laughed and held my boots above her head.