"I understand," Simon said, but he did not sound pleased. "How did you know?"

"Eahlstan Fiskerne was the first mortal king after the fall of Asu'a to reach out to the Zida'ya." The sun was setting outside, and the sky beyond the windows was turning dark. A brisk wind coursed through the throne room and ruffled some of the banners on the floor. Jiriki's white hair fluttered. "He knew us, and some of our folk came at times to meet with him in the caverns below the Hayholt-in the ruins of our home. He feared that what we Zida'ya knew would be lost forever, and even that we might turn against humankind entirely after the destruction that Fingil had wrought. He was not far wrong. There has been little love for mortals among my folk. There was also little love for immortals among Eahlstan's own kind. But as the years of his reign pa.s.sed, small steps were taken, small confidences exchanged, and a delicate trust began to build. We who were involved kept it a secret." Jiriki smiled. "I say 'we,' but I myself was only the message-bearer, running errands for First Grandmother, who could not let her continuing interest in mortals be widely known, even within her own family."

"I was always jealous of you, Willow-Switch," said Aditu, laughing. "So young, and yet with such important tasks!"

Jiriki smiled. "In any case, whatever might have been if Eahlstan had lived and his line had continued did not come to pa.s.s. The fire-worm Shurakai came, and in killing it, Eahlstan was himself killed. Whether his eventual successor John knew something of Eahlstan's secret dealings with us and feared we would expose John's lie that he was the dragon-slayer or there was some other reason for his enmity toward us, I do not know. But John set out to drive us from the last of our hiding places. He did not find them all, and never came near to discovering Jao e-Tinukai'i, but he did us great harm. Almost all our contact with mortals ended during John's life."

Simon folded his hands. "I am sorry for the things my people have done. And I am glad to know my ancestor was such a man."

"Eahlstan's folk scattered before the wrath of the dragon. Eventually they settled into their exile, I am told," Jiriki said. "And when John came and conquered, all hope of regaining the Hayholt was gone. So they nursed their secret and went on, a fishing folk living close to the waters as they had been in the days of Eahlstan Fiskerne's ancestors. But Eahlstan's ring they kept in the royal family, and pa.s.sed it down from parent to child. One of Eahlstan's great-grandchildren, a scholar like his forebear, studied the old Sithi runes from one of Eahlstan's treasured scrolls, then had the motto that was the family's pride-and Prester John's secret shame-inscribed upon the ring. That was what Morgenes held in trust for you, Seoman: your past."

"And I'm certain he would have told me some day." Simon had listened to Jiriki's tale with poorly-hidden tension. Isgrimnur stared, looking for the cracks in Simon's nature that he half-expected, but feared, to see. "But what has it to do with anything now? All the royal blood in the world did not make me less of a dupe for Pryrates and the Storm King. It's a pretty tale, no more. Half the n.o.ble houses in Nabban must have Imperators in their history. What of it?" His jaw was set belligerently.

Several of the company turned to Isgrimnur. The duke moved uncomfortably on the step. "Erkynland needs a ruler," he said at last. "The Dragonbone Chair is empty."

Simon's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "And.. "And.. ? " he said at last. He stared at Isgrimnur dis trustfully. "Miriamele is in good health and has only a few wounds. In fact, she is just the same as she ever was,"-the bitterness in his voice was plain-"so surely she will soon be able to rule." ? " he said at last. He stared at Isgrimnur dis trustfully. "Miriamele is in good health and has only a few wounds. In fact, she is just the same as she ever was,"-the bitterness in his voice was plain-"so surely she will soon be able to rule."

"It is not her health that concerns us," said the duke gruffly. Somewhere, this conversation had gone wrong. Simon was acting like one awakened from his rightful sleep by a group of misbehaving children. "It is-d.a.m.n it, it's her father!"

"But Elias is dead. She killed him herself. With the White Arrow of the Sithi." Simon turned to Jiriki. "Come to think of it, since that arrow certainly saved my life, I suppose we have evened our debt."

The Sitha did not respond. The immortal's face was, as usual, unrevealing, but something in his posture suggested he was troubled.

"The people have suffered so under Elias that they may not trust Miriamele," Isgrimnur said. "It's foolish, I know, but there it is. If Josua had lived, they might have welcomed him with open arms. The barons know the prince resisted Elias ever since he began to go bad, that he suffered terribly and fought his way back from exile. But Josua is dead."

"Miriamele did all those things, too!" Simon cried angrily. "This is nonsense!"

"We know, Simon," said Tiamak. "I traveled with her a long way. Many of us know of her bravery."

"Yes, I know it, too," Isgrimnur growled, his own irritation flaring. "But what is true does not matter here. She fled Naglimund before the siege started and she did not reach Sesuad'ra until after Fengbald had been defeated. Then she vanished again, and wound up in the Hayholt with her father at the very ending." He grimaced. "And there are tales, doubtless spread by that wh.o.r.eson Aspitis Preves, that she was his doxy while he served Pryrates. Rumors are flying."

"But some of those things are true of me, too. Am I I a traitor?" a traitor?"

"Miriamele is not a traitor, G.o.d knows-and I I know." Isgrimnur glared at him. "But after what her father has done, she may not be trusted. The people want someone on the throne they can trust." know." Isgrimnur glared at him. "But after what her father has done, she may not be trusted. The people want someone on the throne they can trust."

"Madness!" Simon slapped his hands against his thighs, then turned to the Sithi. He seemed ready to burst. "What do you two think of this?" he demanded.

"We do not concern ourselves in these kind of mortal affairs," Jiriki said a little stiffly.

"You are our friend, Seoman," Aditu added. "Whatever we can do for you to help you in this time, we will. However, we also have only respect for Miriamele, though we know her but little."

Simon turned to the troll. "Binabik?"

The little man shrugged. "I cannot say. Isgrimnur and the rest of you must be making decisions to settle it yourselves. You and Miriamele are both my friends. If you are wishing advice later, Simon, we will take Qantaqa off for walking and we will speak."

"Speak about what? People telling lies about Miriamele?"

Isgrimnur cleared his throat. "He means he will talk to you about accepting the crown of Erkynland."

Simon turned back to stare at the duke. This time, for all his newfound maturity, the young man could not hide any of his feelings. "You are ... you are offering me the throne?" he asked derisively, incredulously. "This is madness! Me? A kitchen boy!"

Isgrimnur could not help smiling. "You are much more than a kitchen boy. Your deeds are already filling up songs and stories everywhere between here and Nabban. Wait until the Battle in the Tower is added to the tally."

"Aedon preserve me," Simon said in disgust.

"But there are more important things." The duke grew serious. "You are well-liked and well-known. Not only did you battle a dragon, you fought bravely for Sesuad'ra and Josua, and people remember that. And now we can tell them that you have the blood of Saint Eahlstan Fiskeme, one of the most beloved men ever to hold a throne. In fact, it if weren't true, I would be tempted to make it up."

"But it doesn't mean anything!" anything!" Simon exploded. "Don't you think I've thought about it? I've been doing nothing Simon exploded. "Don't you think I've thought about it? I've been doing nothing but but thinking since the moment I realized. I am a scullion who was taught by a very wise, very kind man. I have been lucky in my friends. I have been caught up in terrible things, I did what I had to, and I lived through it. None of that has anything to do with who my great-great-however-many-greats-grandfather was!" thinking since the moment I realized. I am a scullion who was taught by a very wise, very kind man. I have been lucky in my friends. I have been caught up in terrible things, I did what I had to, and I lived through it. None of that has anything to do with who my great-great-however-many-greats-grandfather was!"

Isgrimnur waited a few moments after Simon finished, letting some of the youth's anger pa.s.s. "But don't you see," the duke said gently, "it doesn't matter whether it changes anything or not. As I said, I don't think it really matters much if it's true true or not. Dror's red mallet, Simon, Prester John's story was a myth-a lie! I've had to struggle with that discovery myself in the last few days. But does it make him any less a king? People need to believe something whether you want them to or not. If you don't give them things to believe, they will make things up. or not. Dror's red mallet, Simon, Prester John's story was a myth-a lie! I've had to struggle with that discovery myself in the last few days. But does it make him any less a king? People need to believe something whether you want them to or not. If you don't give them things to believe, they will make things up.

"Right now they are frightened of the future. Most of the world we know is in a shambles, Simon. And the survivors are wary of Miriamele because of who she is and because of uncertainty about what she's done-and because she's a young woman, to speak bluntly. The barons want a man, someone strong but not too strong, and they want no civil wars over a reigning queen's choice of husbands." Isgrimnur reached out to touch Simon's arm, but decided against it and drew his hand back. "Listen to me. The people who followed Josua love you, Simon, almost as much as they loved the prince. More in some ways, perhaps. You know and I know that what blood flows in you makes no difference-it's all red. But your people need to believe in something, and they are cold and hurting and homeless."

Simon stared at him. Isgrimnur could not help feeling the force of the young man's rage. He had grown indeed. He would be a formidable man-no, he was so already.

"And for such tricks you would have me betray Miriamele?" Simon demanded.

"Not betray," Isgrimnur said. "I will give you a few days to think about it, then I will go and put it to her myself. We will bury our dead tomorrow, and the people will see us all together. That will be enough for now." The duke shook his head. "I'm not going to lie to her, Simon-that's not my way-but I wanted you to have a chance to hear me first." He suddenly felt immensely sorry for the young man.

He probably thought he would have a chance to lick his wounds in peace-and he's got plenty of them. We all do.

"Think about it, Simon. We need you-all of us. It will be hard enough for me to pull my own dukedom together, not to mention what will happen to young Varellan, orphaned in Nabban, and whoever still remains in Hernystir. We need at least the appearance of the High King's Ward again, and someone the people trust sitting on the throne at the Hayholt."

He rose from the low stair, trying not to show how much his back hurt, bowed stiffly to Simon-which in itself was an odd sensation-and stumped away across the throne room, leaving the rest of the circle in silence. He could feel Simon's eyes on his back.

G.o.d help me, Isgrimnur thought as he emerged into the twilight. Isgrimnur thought as he emerged into the twilight. I need a rest. A long rest. I need a rest. A long rest.

He looked up from the fire at the sound of footsteps. "Binabik?"

She moved forward into the light. Despite the cool spring night and the patches of still unmelted snow, her feet were bare. Her cloak fluttered in the breeze that swept down the hillside from the Hayholt.

"I couldn't sleep," she said.

For a moment Simon hesitated. He had not expected anyone, least of all her. After the day-long memorial for Josua, Camaris, Isorn, and the other dead, Binabik had gone off to spend the evening with Strangyeard and Tiamak, leaving Simon alone to sit before his tent and think. Her arrival seemed a thing he might have dreamed while staring into the campfire.

"Miriamele." He clambered awkwardly to his feet. "Princess. Sit down, please." He gestured to a stone near the fire.

She sat, drawing her cloak close around her. "Are you well?" she asked at last.

"I'm ..." He paused. "I don't know. Things are strange."

She nodded. "It's hard to believe it's finished. It's hard to believe they're all gone forever."

He moved uncomfortably, not certain if she spoke of friends or enemies. "There are still lots of things to be done. People are scattered, the world has been turned upside-down...." Simon waved his hand vaguely. "There's lots to do."

Miriamele leaned forward, stretching her hands toward the fire. Simon watched the light play across her delicate features and felt his heart clutch hopelessly. All the royal blood in the world might run in his veins, rivers of it, but it did not matter if she did not care for him. During all of today's rites for the fallen, she had not once met his eyes. Even their friendship seemed to have faded.

It would serve her right if I let them force me to take the throne. He turned away to stare at the flames, feeling low and mean-spirited. He turned away to stare at the flames, feeling low and mean-spirited. But it is hers by right. But it is hers by right. She was Prester John's granddaughter. What difference did it make that some ancestor of Simon's had been king two centuries ago? She was Prester John's granddaughter. What difference did it make that some ancestor of Simon's had been king two centuries ago?

"I killed him, Simon," she said abruptly. "I traveled all that way to speak to him, to try to let him know I understood ... but instead I killed him." There was devastation in her words. "Killed him!"

Simon searched frantically for something to say. "You saved us all, Miriamele."

"He was a good man, Simon. Loud and short-tempered, perhaps, but he was ... before my mother ..." She blinked her eyes rapidly. "My own father!"

"You had no other choice." Simon ached to see her in such pain. "There was nothing else you could have done, Miri. You saved us."

"He knew me at the end. May G.o.d help me, Simon, I think he wanted me to do it. I looked at him ... and he was so unhappy. He was in so much pain!" She rubbed at her face with her cloak. "I will not cry," she said harshly. "I am so weary of crying!"

The wind grew stronger, sighing through the gra.s.s.

"And sweet Uncle Josua!" she said, more quietly now, but with a core of urgency. "Gone, like everyone else. Gone. All my family gone. And poor, tormented Camaris. Ah, G.o.d. What kind of a world is this?" Her shoulders were heaving. Simon reached out and awkwardly took her hand. She did not try to pull away, as he felt sure she would. Instead, they sat in silence except for the crackling of the fire. "And C-Cadrach, too," she murmured at last. "Oh, Merciful Elysia, in some ways he is the worst. He wanted only to die, but he waited for me ... for us. He stayed, despite all that had happened, despite all the terrible things I said to him." She lowered her head, staring at the ground. Her voice was painfully raw. "In his way, he loved me. That was cruel of him, wasn't it?"

Simon shook his head. There was nothing to say.

She suddenly turned to him, eyes wide. "Let's go away! We can take the horses and be half a dozen leagues from here by morning. I don't want to be a queen!" She squeezed his hand. "Oh, please don't leave me!"

"Go away? Where? And why would I leave you?" Simon felt his heart speed. It was hard to think, hard to believe he had truly understood her. "Miriamele, what are you talking about?"

"Curse you, Simon! Are you really as foolish as people used to think you were?" She now grasped his hand in both of hers; tears gleamed on her cheeks. "I don't care if you were a kitchen boy. I don't care that your father was a fisherman. I only want you, Simon. Oh, do you think I'm an idiot? I am am an idiot, I suppose." Her laugh had a touch of wildness to it. She let go of his hand for a moment to wipe at her eyes again. "I've been brooding about this ever since the tower fell. I can't stand it! Uncle Isgrimnur and the others, they're going to make me take the throne, I know they will. And I'll go back to being the old Miriamele again, except this time it will be a thousand, thousand times worse! It will be a prison. And then I'll have to marry some other Fengbald-just because he's dead doesn't mean there aren't a hundred more just like him-and I'll never have another adventure, or be free, or do what I want to ... and you'll go away, Simon! I'll lose you! The only one I really care about." an idiot, I suppose." Her laugh had a touch of wildness to it. She let go of his hand for a moment to wipe at her eyes again. "I've been brooding about this ever since the tower fell. I can't stand it! Uncle Isgrimnur and the others, they're going to make me take the throne, I know they will. And I'll go back to being the old Miriamele again, except this time it will be a thousand, thousand times worse! It will be a prison. And then I'll have to marry some other Fengbald-just because he's dead doesn't mean there aren't a hundred more just like him-and I'll never have another adventure, or be free, or do what I want to ... and you'll go away, Simon! I'll lose you! The only one I really care about."

He stood, then pulled her up from the stone so he could put his arms around her. They were both shaking, and for a little time all he could do was grapple her to him and hang on, as though the wind might sweep her away.

"I've loved you so long, Miriamele." He could not keep his voice steady.

"You frighten me. You don't know how you frighten me." Her voice was m.u.f.fled against his chest. "I don't know what you see when you look at me. But please don't go away," she said urgently. "Whatever happens, don't go away."

"I won't." He leaned back so he could see her. Her eyes were bright, fresh tears trembling on the lower lashes. His own eyes were blurring as well. He laughed; his voice cracked. "I won't leave you. I promised I wouldn't, don't you remember?"

"Sir Seoman. My Simon. You are my love." She sucked in her breath. "How did it happen?"

He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against hers, and as they clung to each other the starry sky seemed to spin around the place where they stood. Simon's hands moved beneath her cloak and he ran his fingers down the long muscles of her back. Miriamele shuddered and pulled him closer, rubbing her damp face against his neck.

Feeling the length of her pressed against him filled Simon with a kind of drunken, joyous madness. With his arms still locked around her, he took a few staggering steps toward the tent. He tasted the salt of her tears and covered her eyes and cheeks and lips with kisses as her hair swirled around him and stuck to his damp face.

Inside the tent, hidden from the prying stars, they wrapped themselves tightly around each other, clutching, drowning together. The wind plucked at the tent cloth, the only sound beside the rustle of clothes and the urgent hiss of their breathing.

For a moment the wind tugged the tent door open. In the thin starlight, her skin was pale as ivory, so smooth and warm beneath his fingers that he could not imagine ever wanting to touch anything else. His hand slid across the curve of her breast and ran down her hip. He felt something catch inside him, something almost like terror, but sweet, so sweet. She held his face between her hands and drank his breath, murmuring wordlessly all the while, gasping quietly as his mouth moved dbwn her neck and onto the delicate arch of her collarbone.

He pulled her closer, wanting to devour her, wanting to be devoured. His eyes overspilled with tears.

"I've loved you so long," he whispered.

Simon awakened slowly. He felt heavy, his body warm and boneless. Miriamele's head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, her hair pressed softly against his cheek and neck. Her slender limbs were wrapped around him, one arm splayed across his chest, the fingers tickling beneath his chin.

He pulled her nearer. She murmured sleepily and rubbed her head against him.

The tent flap rustled. A silhouette, a slightly darker spot against the night sky, appeared in the gap.

"Simon?" someone whispered.

Heart pounding, suddenly ashamed for the princess, Simon tried to sit up. Miriamele made an unhappy sound as he slid her arm lower.

"Binabik?" he asked. "Is that you?"

The dark shape pushed in, letting the flap fall shut behind.

"Quiet. I am about to light a candle. Say nothing."

There was a muted clinking as flint met steel, then a tiny glow sprang up in the gra.s.s near the tent door. A moment later a flame bobbed at the end of a wick and soft candlelight filled the tent. Miriamele made a groggy noise of protest and buried her face deeper in Simon's neck. He gaped in astonishment.

Josua's thin face hovered above the candle.

"The grave cannot hold me," said the prince, smiling.

34.

Leavetaking

Simon's heart thumped.

"Prince Josua... ?"

"Quietly, lad." Josua leaned forward. His eyes widened for a moment as he saw the head pillowed on Simon's chest, but then his smile returned. "Ah. Bless you both. Make her marry you, Simon-not that it will take much coaxing, I think. She will make a splendid queen with you to help her."

Simon shook his head in amazement. "But ... but you ... surely ..." He stopped and took a breath. "You're dead-or everyone thinks you are!"

Josua seated himself, holding the candle low so that the gleam was mostly shielded by his body. "I should be."

"Tiamak saw your neck broken!" Simon whispered. "And no one could have gotten out of that place after we did."

"Tiamak saw me struck," struck," Josua corrected him. "My neck should indeed have been broken-as it is, it still hurts fiercely. But I had my hand up." He extended his left arm and the tattered sleeve pulled back. Elias' manacle still hung on the swollen wrist, the metal flattened and scarred. "My brother and Pryrates forgot the gift they had given me. There is some poetry in that-or perhaps G.o.d wished to send a message about the value of suffering." The prince's sleeve rustled back into place. "I could barely use the hand for two days after I awoke, but the feeling is coming back now." Josua corrected him. "My neck should indeed have been broken-as it is, it still hurts fiercely. But I had my hand up." He extended his left arm and the tattered sleeve pulled back. Elias' manacle still hung on the swollen wrist, the metal flattened and scarred. "My brother and Pryrates forgot the gift they had given me. There is some poetry in that-or perhaps G.o.d wished to send a message about the value of suffering." The prince's sleeve rustled back into place. "I could barely use the hand for two days after I awoke, but the feeling is coming back now."

Miriamele stirred and opened her eyes. For a moment they widened in dread, then she sat up, clutching the blanket to her breast. "Uncle Josua!"

Smiling crookedly, he lifted his finger to his lips. She pulled the top part of the blanket around her-leaving most of Simon exposed to the cold air-and threw her arms around him, weeping. Josua, too, seemed almost overcome. After a few moments Miriamele pulled away, then looked down at her bare shoulders and colored. She hurriedly lay back on the bedroll again and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Simon took back his half of it with grat.i.tude.