Resisting a grin, Corwin strode across the vault toward the entryway. Silently the priestesses let him pass, and he and Dal headed up the long, narrow stairs single file, arriving in the throne room a few minutes later.
The vast hall, columned along both sides, stood empty this time of day. With rain battering the long, arched windows, it was as dark and somber as a tomb. The door to the Vault of Souls rested a mere six feet from the back of the Mirror Throne, close enough that the light from Corwin’s torch was refracted a thousand times over in the reflective surface. As its name suggested, the throne was made entirely of mirrors, symbolizing the need for the king to both see and be seen at all times, honest and true. Corwin saw his face shining in it and looked away.
He turned and clapped Dal on the shoulder. “I expected you back days ago.” More than a week had passed since Dal and Signe left for Tyvald.
Dal wrinkled his nose, stepping aside to make room for the priestesses, who had stopped to seal the vault and lock it with a large key. “The morning we were set to leave, the city went on lockdown. More daydrakes sighted in the area. Took three hells’ worth of convincing the magists to leave as soon as we did.”
Corwin ran a thumb over the scar on his chin, feeling a knot clench in his stomach. The situation was worsening every day, and yet he was no closer to an answer. Depositing his torch in the empty cradle beside the vault door, he turned and headed for the nearest exit, motioning for Dal to follow. He was due in a council meeting in the next few minutes.
“What did you discover?” Corwin asked as they stepped into the corridor.
“Very little we don’t already know, about the daydrakes at least. The packs kept coming in waves, their behavior the same as nightdrakes. But Signe and I did meet a woman who claimed she saw another escaped wilder in the city the day before the first attack.”
“Another one escaped from the golds?”
Shrugging, Dal brushed the arms of his tunic, sending up a cloud of road dust. It seemed he’d made it inside before the rain started. “She wasn’t certain. The wilder had been just a boy when the golds took him nearly two years ago, and by her own account he looked much changed from when she’d known him.”
“I see,” Corwin said, doing his best to keep the disappointment from his voice. He’d hoped for more, although he should have been used to disappointment by now. He’d felt the same after hearing Master Raith’s report. The attacks were random, difficult to trace, and with few signs of human involvement, wilder or otherwise. Raith had even gone so far as to speculate that perhaps the Rising wasn’t behind the attacks at all, but Corwin remained skeptical. If not they, then who? There seemed no answer. He’d finally received a reply from the gold order in Andreas. They didn’t deny or confirm anything about Ralph Marcel. Instead, the letter stated that such records were private, protected by the rules set down in the League Accords. There was nothing Corwin could do about it, high prince or no.
“What were you doing down at the Well of the World, anyway?” Dal asked, drawing Corwin out of his reverie. “That place gives me a chill that has nothing to do with how cold it is down there.”
“Actually, the hole itself seemed quite warm,” Corwin said. “But I was merely contemplating the third trial.” This wasn’t entirely the truth. He’d come down today in particular to avoid seeing Kate. His rooms where he’d been reading overlooked the cavalry fields, and he’d spotted her through the window. Before he knew it, he’d wasted a full ten minutes watching her take Firedancer through her paces and was soon fighting the urge to go down and speak to her. He’d been fighting that urge all week, actually, ever since their disastrous interlude. He wished it had never happened, that he’d never allowed himself to taste what he couldn’t possess. The memory of it was bound to drive him mad.
“The third trial?” Dal asked as they turned left, down another, narrower corridor. “Don’t you think you’re getting ahead of yourself? We haven’t even gotten to the second trial yet.”
“True, but the second is only four weeks away and the third soon to follow,” Corwin replied. Then, trying to change the subject, he added, “The high priestess has determined the second will take place during the War Games. She says that all of Rime should have a chance to witness the uror.” He had been looking forward to the War Games, an annual festival celebrating the unification of Rime, but now he dreaded its approach.
“All hail the high king,” Dal said, rolling his eyes.
Hearing an unusual noise ahead, they both slowed down as they approached an alcove. “Is someone there?” Corwin called.
There was the sound of rustling fabric, then Minister Rendborne appeared at the base of the alcove, his golden eyes overly bright. He rubbed his hands together nervously, the glow of his magestone ring winking.
“Your highness, forgive me. But yes. We were just, uh . . .”
Corwin covered his mouth to keep from laughing as he spotted Maestra Vikas standing just behind the minister of trade. He didn’t need to see the red flush around her lips to understand the two had been enjoying a secret tryst.
“No need to explain,” Corwin said. “I’ll, uh, see you at the meeting.”
Rendborne bowed his head, and Corwin and Dal moved on, neither speaking until they rounded another corner.
“Well, that was strange.” Dal made a face. “I didn’t think magists enjoyed that sort of thing.”
Corwin snorted. “They’re still human, you know.” Although the match did surprise him. He pictured the charismatic Rendborne with someone more interesting, and certainly more fun, than Vikas. Then again, perhaps opposites did attract.
“Yes, but making love to that cold lady would be like sleeping on a bed of ice,” Dal said, giving a shiver.
Laughing, Corwin clapped Dal on the shoulder again. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too, although what in the three hells have you done to Kate in my absence?”
Corwin tried to hide his wince but failed. “Nothing . . . why do you say that?”
“I saw her on the way in just now, and she barely spoke to me. If her eyes were daggers, I believe she would’ve speared me through the heart.”
Corwin huffed, wishing he could deflect the question, but this was Dal. He wouldn’t give up until he got the full story.
“Corwin, what did you do?”
“I might’ve asked her to be my paramour,” he began, and quickly filled Dal in on the rest, leaving out the more intimate details of the encounter.
When Corwin finished, Dal shook his head, puffing out his cheeks. “That’s a tough blow, my friend, although not too surprising she would react that way. Paramours usually come after the marriage, not before. And if you ask me, why bother tying yourself down like that already? It seems you’ve been tied down enough with all this uror business. We haven’t had a bit of fun in weeks.” Dal paused; then a sly smile slid across his face. “Well, you haven’t, anyway.”
“The kitchens are that way, if you want to drop in and grab some salt to pour on my wounds while you’re at it.” Corwin pointed behind him.
“I’ll pass just now.” Dal’s expression turned serious. “I’m truly sorry, my friend. I don’t envy you, and I wish things could go back to the way they were before we left on that damn tour.”
Me too, Corwin thought. In the six months he’d been home from Endra and his sojourn with the Shieldhawks, he’d had no responsibilities and even fewer cares, aside from avoiding memories. But it was a little boy’s wish, a little boy’s dream—one that could never come true. And if I hadn’t gone, I never would’ve found Kate again. Even now, with the pain of her rejection still smarting inside him, he couldn’t regret that.
Corwin shook his head. “The tour wasn’t all bad. You seem to be enjoying Signe’s presence.”