“Burned? How? Was she not a noblewoman?”
“By blood, yes, but not by circumstances. She lived in a house in one of the most crowded parts of Perdruin, in a district called the Cauldron down by the docks in the oldest part of the city. Her house was one of a row, the houses as old and tumbledown as the rest of the district. It looks more like Kwanitupul there than it does like Perdruin. Ah, but you have not been to Kwanitupul, either. Well, in any case, a year before we arrived, sometime near Josua’s disappearance, a fire had begun in that row of houses. All those in the middle of the street had been gutted, and several others in adjoining streets had burned as well. Many died, but all that was left behind were charred bones. We do not know if she was there. We do not know if Josua was there.”
“Could that be the end, then? A terrible accident, and the prince and this Lady Faiera killed in a fire?”
“That might be the reason we never saw either of them again, of course. But even so, it does not tell us where Vorzheva went with the children, and that is our true quest.” He patted the monk on the arm. “Where did the children go?”
Etan sat back. He felt quite overwhelmed. “It is a great deal to take in, my lord. Why do you think I will want to undertake such a difficult if not hopeless task, twenty years too late? You said you thought I would agree.”
“Because not only is it an important task to the king and queen—for them it is about loyalty to one’s friends and keeping promises—but it is an opportunity you might never have again. A wonderful opportunity.”
“To look for people twenty years lost?”
The little Wrannaman reached out and squeezed Etan’s hand. “I told you I wanted you to accept this charge of your own free will, Brother, and I meant it. But consider this last, important reason.” Tiamak lowered his voice a little. “You are a man in whom, whether he knows it completely or not, the love of learning runs very deep. What better chance will you ever have to see something of the world than as an envoy of the High Throne, with all the privileges of the position, sent to travel the south in the search for truth? Have you never wanted to see the Sancellan Aedonitis, the seat of your religion? Have you never longed to see the ruins of the ancient cities that once covered the southern islands? And what of Perdruin, whose every breeze is scented with the smell of goods from all over Osten Ard? How could you say no to that opportunity, especially when you know that it would bring you gratitude from the king and queen?”
Etan felt like Saint Sutrin being tempted by the disguised angel. “You make a strong case, my lord. Is it truly up to me to decide?”
“Yes, of course. And if you say you will undertake it, I will give you such letters from Josua as I have. From Lady Faiera, too. You will have knowledge about the League of the Scroll that none but Scrollbearers have possessed. What say you, Brother? Do you need time to think?”
Before he could answer, they heard the clatter of hurrying footsteps in the passageway outside his chambers. Etan looked up in alarm, so surfeited with secrets he half-expected someone to break in and arrest him.
Tiamak did not wait, but limped across the chamber before the knocking even began and opened the door to reveal a stout priest there, Tiamak’s secretary, all gasps and dripping sweat.
“Father Avner!” said Tiamak. “Is something wrong?”
“Lord Tiamak, your wife Lady Thelía bids you come swiftly! To the royal chapel! She says you must come now!”
“Take a breath, Father,” said Tiamak. Etan thought he sounded much calmer than he could truly be. “Take as many of them as you need to tell the story straight. Of course I’ll come. What’s amiss? Is it the Sitha woman?”
Father Avner wagged his shaven head in confusion. “Sitha? I don’t know about that, Lord. But the prince has fallen off the tower.”
Shocked, Brother Etan made the sign of the Tree. “God preserve him!” he said. “And us!”
“Is Prince Morgan badly hurt?” Tiamak demanded. “Dead?”
“I don’t know—she only told me to fetch you,” said Avner. “But they say he fell off Hjeldin’s Tower, and that is very, very tall . . .”
Tiamak hurried toward the door. Etan leaped to his feet and went after him. The messenger, his task accomplished, now bent over and put his hands on his knees, struggling to get his breath back.
33
Secrets and Promises
Every time the queen tried to get close to Morgan on his makeshift bed, hastily set up in the royal chapel, Lady Thelía frowned at her and politely asked her to move back again. Miriamele bristled at being waved away like a child, but did her best to keep her temper.
Thelía finally straightened up. “Now, Majesty, you may have your turn. The tidings are good—he merely fell while at the top of the tower, not off it, thank our merciful Lord. Other than a quite impressive lump on his jaw and a bloody foot, I have found nothing worse than some cuts and scrapes and bruises.”
“Blessed Elysia be praised!” Miri kneeled down and dabbed at Morgan’s forehead with a damp cloth. “Thanks to Almighty God you are not worse hurt. Poor lad!”
“Poor lad?” The king was pale, and his voice was hoarse, although Miriamele knew that was as much because of fear as anger. “Climbing on Hjeldin’s Tower! Climbing that evil, forbidden thing!”
Morgan groaned and opened his eyes. The royal couple and the others in the chapel—servants, a pair of vergers, and the chaplain, Father Nulles—all murmured their relief. “Where is Snenneq?” the prince asked after he had looked around for a few groggy moments. His eyes widened in fear. “Is he all right? Did he fall?”
“No, he didn’t fall,” his grandfather said. “He’s well, and thank the Lord and all His angels for that. Snenneq climbed down and found help. Binabik was already looking for you two after his daughter came back.” The king took a deep breath before speaking, but his voice still quavered with anger. “Boy, what were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?”
“Don’t shout at him now,” Miriamele said, dabbing Morgan’s brow. She had been so terrified when the servants came for her. The time it took her to get from her chambers to the chapel where the guards had brought her grandson seemed like a nightmare. In fact, it had been very much like the nightmares that had tormented her nearly every night in the first year after John Josua’s death—always hurrying, knowing he needed her, but always too late. Every one of those dreams had ended in a closed door, or an empty bed, or footprints in a grassy field, but no other sign of her lost, beloved son. She could only thank God over and over that this ending had been different.
“I need to talk to Snenneq,” said Morgan, who still looked frightened. “Can someone bring him here?”
“No, you need to sleep, Highness,” said Lady Thelía. “That is what you need. Sleep is the sovereign cure for almost any hurt that does not kill you. And Usires be praised, your fall, however unfortunate, does not seem to have done you any lasting damage.”
Tiamak and young Brother Etan appeared in the doorway of the chapel, their faces suggesting they had not yet heard that the prince had not actually fallen off the tower and was not too badly hurt. Miriamele watched as the chaplain went to speak to them.
“Oh, my heart is beating so fast,” she told her husband. “I was so worried.”
“Our grandson doesn’t seem to bring us much else,” Simon said. “But this is the worst.”
“Don’t you dare shout at him—not in front of all these people.” Miri kept her voice low. “You can wait until he’s in his own room again.”
“And that will happen soon enough,” Simon declared. “We are not going to leave him here in the chapel. He’s not lying in state, he’s just given his foolish chin a good thump. We’ll carry him upstairs that way, in the same blanket he’s lying on.” And before Miriamele could object, he began giving orders to the servants.
“Carefully, please!” said Thelía as two male servants and two Erkynguard took a corner each and lifted Morgan. “We do not know for certain that he has not cracked a rib.”
“All of them,” Morgan moaned as he was bumped a little in the process of lifting him off the steps in front of the altar. “Every damnable one is cracked, I’m sure.”
“And serves you right, you young . . . mooncalf,” the king said, but quietly, so that only Miriamele heard him. She was too weary with fright to smile, but she remembered how many times a younger Simon had been called that himself.