Dal and the others were trying to free the horses, but no one could get close enough to get them undone, and they couldn’t just cut the rope either. Not with the horses so panicked and straining to run. They would be food for the drakes if they got away.
With the horses’ fear invading her mind, Kate acted on instinct. She reached out to the entire herd with her magic. It was easy, her neglected ability hungry for the use and nightfall still far enough away not to impede the magic. She’d only rarely compelled so many horses at once, but it wasn’t any harder than shouting to a crowd, a matter of projection. With a single thought she calmed them enough to get them free of the ropes.
The whole thing took no longer than a moment, and so it was only later, once things had settled, that Kate noticed the strange way Master Raith kept looking at her, the expression obvious without his mask to conceal it. With a jolt of fear she understood her mistake. A single lapse, made on instinct, and yet it was enough to condemn her.
For Raith’s penetrating look, so sinister in the flashes of lightning, could only mean the magist had seen what she was.
14
Corwin
CORWIN HAD NEVER BEEN SO glad to see Norgard. Not even after the two years he’d spent away from it. The last night on this return journey had been far from idyllic. Although they managed to get the horses freed before any suffered permanent damage, and the magists had eventually put out the fire, the rain lingered all through the night. Corwin barely slept, and when he finally woke, he was damp to his bones with a stuffy nose and aching head.
The ride through the rest of Jade Forest and into the countryside on Norgard’s western border was subdued. Despite the bright, cloudless day, no one felt much like talking. Foolishly, Corwin had thought things might be better today between him and Kate, after their private conversation, but she seemed even more withdrawn than before. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to seek her out last night, other than a desire to dispel the weary tension between them. If she was to live in Norgard again, they needed to make peace, for both their sakes. But the only notable difference was that she had opted to ride next to him at the front of the group for once.
When the city at last came into view, Kate drew a loud breath and let it out with a rapturous exhale. “Gods, I’d forgotten how beautiful it is.”
Corwin took in the sight as well, trying to see it through her eyes. It wasn’t hard to feel that same sense of awe. A gleaming white wall, festooned with round turrets capped in pale-blue marble, surrounded a chaotic sprawl of colorful buildings and streets, each one like a wrapped present set about with streamers and ribbon. At the center, Mirror Castle seemed to nest amid the splendor of colors like a giant, rose-gold-hued dragon guarding its treasure hoard. The castle claimed its name from its seven towers, each with a conical roof made of obsidian so polished it reflected the sun like a mirror, setting each point aglow. That and it was home to the Mirror Throne, of course.
“It is at that,” Corwin said. The air tasted better here, light and fresh when he sucked in a lungful. The grass was richer, tall and green among the everweeps, and the sky bluer than anywhere else in Rime. Than all the world.
But the best sight of all was the horses in the pastures that covered the land beyond the wall, mile after mile of split-rail fencing. Grays, chestnuts, bays, blacks, spotteds, they feasted on the grass, stopping only long enough to drink from nearby streams or water troughs or to pin their ears at the foals and yearlings who played around them, snorting, bucking, and kicking in youthful merriment.
Beside him, Kate seemed to drink in the sight of the horses, her eyes lingering on each one they passed. He wondered what she saw, which ones caught her attention and which she passed over with less interest.
Soon they reached the opened city gates. Two massive horse statues stood, one on either side of the entrance. They weren’t identical but asymmetrical complements of each other. The left one, carved in sleek ivory, was leaned back on its haunches, just coming up to a rear, muzzle pointed skyward. The right, carved from glistening onyx, black as pitch, was in full rear, its head curved downward, forelegs striking.
Signe let out a whistle as she stared up at them in awe.
“They are named after the horses of Noralah, the goddess who founded the city,” Kate said, glancing at her friend. “Niran and Nalek.”
“Magnificent,” Signe replied in a breathy voice.
Corwin flashed a grin at Kate. “Remember when we changed their names to Pie and—”
“—Pig,” she said with a nervous titter. “We should’ve been struck dead for blasphemy.”
“Not at all. The gods have a sense of humor—a wicked one, in my experience.”
It was strangely quiet as they approached, hardly any shepherds or farmers in sight. But the moment the guards standing in the watchtowers realized it was Corwin at the gate, they sounded the bells and shouted down onto the streets, “Prince Corwin has returned!”
The cry was soon picked up by others in the city, until it became a collective roar. “Prince Corwin! Prince Corwin!”
Kate reined her horse back almost at once, moving to the middle of the pack as if she feared being recognized as well. He couldn’t blame her wanting to go unnoticed here.
Despite the crowd, they traveled quickly through the winding streets on their way to the castle. Unlike those in Andreas, the paths here had gentle slopes, some up, some down. The buildings weren’t nearly so tall either, allowing for plenty of light and an open feel. They were also more pleasant to look upon, that wrapped-present appearance still maintained up close. They came in all shapes, some squat and short with shutters painted in fanciful patterns and awnings trimmed in tassels or ribbons, others sleek and refined in contrasting, complementary colors.
Corwin smiled and waved at the people calling his name, but he wondered at the fervency of their greeting. It was nearly as great as when he’d returned from his long absence. But that time he’d been gone two years, not just a matter of weeks. The people in the street were pressing in to touch him, fingers brushing his boots or his horse’s sides. It brought luck to touch a returning prince, but it was a gesture normally reserved for times of war. Then again, maybe the people believed he had been at war, of a kind. By now, every newspaper in Rime had carried the story about his brush with death on the road to Andreas. He wished he could’ve kept it secret same as he had his time spent away. At the thought, he glanced down at his vambrace, making sure it remained in place. How foolish it had been to get that tattoo. I never thought I was coming back here.
His hope had been to enter the castle quietly, not drawing attention to his companions until after he had a chance to discuss things with Edwin. He’d sent word ahead that he was bringing guests with him, but he’d been vague on the details. He knew any objections Edwin or the high council might have about Kate would fade once they learned that she had saved his life and introduced Corwin to the revolver; but it was something he wanted to explain in person, the pen too cold a medium for expressing such events.
But by the time they reached the castle gates, he saw that there would be no quiet entrance. A squadron of royal guards in their blue uniforms awaited their arrival. Captain Jaol stood at the head of the guard, his gaze fixed not on Corwin but somewhere behind him. On Kate, Corwin suspected. The chief duty of the royal guard was to ensure the king’s safety, and Jaol had been captain of it for nearly twenty years. He’d been there when Kate’s father had nearly killed the king, and every line on his face spoke of his animosity toward the traitor’s daughter.