Kate felt the color drain from her cheeks at the thought. A few weeks ago she would’ve denied it, would’ve been furious at the insinuation. But now, after all that had happened—both what she herself had learned to do and what she had experienced with that wilder in Thornewall—she couldn’t deny it so easily.
“I don’t know, Corwin,” she said finally. “I don’t think he would’ve done anything like that, and even if he had, I don’t know how it would’ve worked.”
Corwin nodded, one finger worrying at the scar on his chin again.
Kate took a step toward him, her muscles so tense she thought they might snap at every movement. “But I did find out what he was doing at the Sacred Sword.”
“You did? What was it?”
“He—” She stopped herself just in time, feeling a flicker of heat pass over her skin. The curse. It was still on her. She couldn’t tell him about Kiran or the Rising or anything else she’d learned that day.
Kate shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. There’s magic involved. I was sworn to secrecy with a magist curse.”
Corwin pressed his lips together, hands curling into fists.
“Believe me, Corwin, I want to tell you, but I can’t. Not now. Master Raith will have to—”
“Raith is involved?” Corwin’s body went rigid. “Of course he is.”
Kate raised her hands, trying to calm him. “Yes, but he’ll be able to tell you everything once he’s back from Penlocke.”
Corwin glared down at her, his anger finally arriving, if in a different form than she’d anticipated. “Does this secret concern what happened to my father?”
Kate bit her lip, unsure how to respond, how much was safe to share. She’d never expected the conversation to turn this way. “I can’t answer that, but you’ve got to trust me when I say that no one knows what happened that night between my father and yours. Not me and not Raith either. I wish we did, but we don’t.”
A muscle ticked in Corwin’s jaw. “How can I trust you, Kate? When you’ve kept such things from me all this time?”
“That’s not fair, Corwin. You know it’s not. Wilders are put to death just for being who we are. We’re hunted like animals.” Tears burned in her eyes, all the agony she felt for Kiran and Bonner, for herself, rising to the surface. “But wilder or no, I’m still the same Kate I’ve always been. I’m still me.”
Corwin dropped his gaze, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her. He examined the uror mark on his palm, tracing it with a finger. Then, finally, he looked up again, the anger gone from his gaze, his expression solemn.
“You’re right. I can see you had no choice. But you’ve got to understand how this looks, knowing your father could do what you can. There’s no telling what—” Corwin broke off, his features slackening into surprise. Then a wild, eager look rose in his eyes. “But what you’re saying isn’t true. Someone does know what happened.”
“Who?”
“My father. He was there. He saw everything.”
“Well, yes, Corwin,” Kate said, uncertain, “but King Orwin’s not well in the mind. You said it yourself.”
“Yes, I did.” He gestured at her. “But you’ve the power to enter minds. To read the thoughts of people.”
The realization struck Kate like lightning, too shocking to fully comprehend.
“Can you do it?” Corwin said, his reservations about what she could do forgotten for the moment.
“I don’t know.” Her mind spun, just as caught up in the idea. Could it really be that simple? The key to unlocking the mystery, nothing more than using her magic? She nodded to herself, hope filling her like air. “But I’m willing to try.”
“All right,” Corwin said, a slight tremor in his voice and his blue eyes suddenly ablaze. “Let’s do it, then. Maybe we can put this mystery to rest once and forever.”
“Yes,” Kate said, telling herself not to mistake his willingness here as acceptance. But perhaps it was a start. Even if it wasn’t, even if he turned on her later, at least she had this chance to find the truth at last. That made the risk worth it.
31
Kate
THE KING’S CHAMBERS REEKED OF his sickness, a cloying, putrid smell that Kate could almost taste on the back of her tongue. The king himself sat in a cushioned armchair next to the window, his dull gaze fixed on some random point outside. Pale light beyond heralded the approach of night. She would have to hurry before her magic faded and they lost the chance. As it was, her nerves crackled beneath her skin with the worry that they would be discovered at any moment.
Or that Corwin might suddenly change his mind and call for the golds. In the long walk over here, they’d shared only silence, and he’d not touched her once, not even an accidental brush of his arm against hers as they moved side by side down the corridors.
“Good evening, father,” Corwin said, coming to stand just behind the king.
When Orwin didn’t respond, he motioned to Kate. “Do . . . whatever it is you need to do. We’ve only a few minutes before the servants come with his supper and before I must make an appearance at the banquet.”
Kate nodded, too tense to speak. It wasn’t just the idea of invading the king’s mind, but also of letting Corwin watch. She felt as if she stood here naked, all of her laid bare before him for the first time, and without the reassurance of the love he’d confessed earlier. His acceptance now was uneasy at best.
Carefully not looking at Corwin, Kate reached out to King Orwin, her stomach clenched in both pity and revulsion at the worn, sickly look of him. This was not the man she’d known. She’d once thought Corwin’s description of his illness was a son’s despairing exaggeration, but she could see now it wasn’t. Not at all. Something is wrong here. She felt it, the same way she’d felt the wrongness in the Wandering Woods that day, in the minds of the drakes.
Steeling her courage, Kate laid her palm against the king’s shoulder. Then she closed her eyes and reached out to him with her magic. The moment she touched his mind, she knew it was a mistake. She felt the spell close in around her, a trap that had been set for her—or others like her.
Like my father.
She opened her eyes just long enough to see the brightening glow on the magestone around King Orwin’s neck, the way it pulsed a warning—sending out an alarm to whoever had created the spell in it and given it to the king.
Kate tried to break away, but it was too late. The magic held her in its grasp. Then against her will she felt thoughts and memories and feelings pouring into her, like a floodgate at the moment of breaking. It was too much, too strong, King Orwin’s mind a broken vessel. She felt her own mind being drawn into his until she was seeing the world through his eyes and the slant of his memory. Corwin and the room vanished away as time slowed and Kate slipped into the past. . . .
IT’S EARLY, DAWN just breaking over the horizon. Orwin lies in his bed, wakeful still as he has been all night. Sleep rarely comes for him anymore. Not now that he sleeps alone, his wife dead for nearly a year.
He hears the footsteps long before the knock sounds on the door. It’s Hale. He knows it before he calls for entrance. Hale has come to continue the argument from last night, to try to plead against the Inquisition, but Orwin won’t hear of it. The Inquisition is right. It’s just. The wilders must be stopped. It is as Master Storr claims—the crown must protect the people from the dangers wilders pose. Even children can do great harm. The wilder who set the fire in the market that day was just a boy, and yet he was responsible for so much destruction, pain, and suffering—all of it inflicted on the innocent, those incapable of defending themselves against such power.
Like his poor Imogen. Even now he hears the sound of her death cries, the pitiful, labored breathing. It haunts his sleep, his soul.
Hale enters, bowing before his king and friend. “Please, Orwin. You must reconsider. This isn’t right. Too much can go wrong. It gives the League too much power, which is just what Storr wants.”