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“It will help,” Si-cham affirmed. “It will not interfere. You won’t even notice it after the first night, unless you try to use your Gift, of course. I would not advise it.”
She sat down with an exhausted sigh. “What must I do?”
Alanna kept to House Olau for the next few days while her head buzzed and her stomach lurched. Grimly she continued her exercises with Liam in spite of it, fearing to slack off for even a day. At last her body adjusted to the new burden. But she refused to do so tiny a spell as the one for lighting candles, fearful of what might happen. Visiting Thom once more, she was glad she’d given in—he looked better already. Together with Si-cham, he had embarked on the beginnings of an intricate spell. It would be finished several days after the coronation, and—if Thom was lucky—it would purify his magic.
Three days before the coronation, Jonathan summoned Alanna to the palace to discuss how the Jewel would fit into the ceremonies. “It seems like a silly thing to worry about,” he admitted with a smile, “but the Master of Protocol wouldn’t let me alone until I agreed to do it his way. You see, I can’t take it up when I’m crowned, or when I get the scepter and the Great Seal. Those are all Tortallan things, and the Jewel isn’t Tortallan.”
Alanna had to laugh. “Poor Jon! Maybe I should’ve given it to you for your birthday, or something.”
The King-to-be grimaced. “Very funny. Here’s how we will do it. When you come to give me your oath as King’s Champion, say this.”
He gave her a parchment on which her oath was written. It read very like the one she’d taken as a knight. At the end, in scarlet ink, were lines, which she read aloud. “’Sire, as token of my fealty, I gift you and your heirs with this most awesome artifact—’ Jon, do I really have to say ’awesome artifact’?” Jonathan nodded, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Wonderful,” Alanna muttered as she read further. “’For which I have gone in quest to the most distant corner of our world. Through peril I have borne it, for the glory of Tortall, and for the glory of King Jonathan. Accept, I beg, this symbol of my devotion to realm and crown, the Dominion Jewel.’ Jon, this is some kind of a joke!”
Jon shook his head. “Wait till you hear what I have to say in reply. I’d better go—the delegation from Tyra is waiting for me. Don’t forget to memorize your lines!” With an evil grin he left Alanna to scowl at her revised oath.
She shoved it into her pocket. “I guess I’m too old to put a frog in his bed,” she muttered as she headed for the stables. “’Awesome artifact,’ indeed!”
eight
Crossroad in Time
The night before the coronation, Alanna stayed with Jonathan as he kept vigil in the Chapel of the Ordeal. While he meditated on the obligations of Kingship, she worried. None of those who’d made his protection their goal were satisfied that the single men pouring into the city in recent weeks had come to enjoy themselves. They’d had no choice—Raoul, Gary, the Lord Provost—but to let the coronation take place, so they had every fighting man in service to the palace on duty and alert. Alanna attended their talks with Jon that afternoon but had nothing to add. The back of her neck prickled constantly, reflecting her uneasiness, but that wasn’t solid evidence of trouble. When she and Jonathan reached the chapel, she was pleased to see Raoul had posted a double guard. The night inched by quietly; the only movement she noticed occurred when she or Jonathan changed position.
The iron door of the Chamber shimmered in the candlelight, a vivid reminder of her Ordeal of Knighthood. Here Jon would undergo the Ordeal of Kings. The only advantage she could see to his entering that room a second time was that the Kings’ Ordeal was said to be short. For herself, she knew that no inducement could get her to enter that place again.
Suddenly the light shifted. The Dominion Jewel danced in the air in front of her, so real looking she had to touch the pouch at her waist to make sure the Jewel was in there. She stared, wondering if this was a glimpse of the future, or something of the Jewel’s making. The false Jewel shimmered and grew, coming closer, until it overwhelmed her eyes. Inside it she saw:
In the center of the Chamber of the Ordeal Roger lay on a block of stone. He got up and held out his arms. “Come, loved one,” he whispered.
She had been warned not to speak or scream. Her jaws knotted to keep from yelling her fury. She couldn’t move. Closer he came. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep silent—coppery blood flooded her mouth.
She was in his arms and they danced, his face lit with love and with rage, his sapphire eyes insane. “We’ll dance until the end of everything, my darling, my pet,” he crooned. “Promise me we’ll dance forever.”
She shook her head, struggling wildly against his grip. She opened her mouth, then clamped it shut.
She was forbidden to scream in the Chamber of the Ordeal!
She was in the chapel once again, her hands tight over her mouth. Luckily Jonathan was in some kind of trance, unable to notice her antics. Slowly she lowered her hands, trembling. What did today have in store?
When the first rays of sun slid through the high windows of the chapel, the priests came. Jonathan rose to go with them, still in a trance. Gently they conveyed him to the Chamber and ushered him inside. Alanna tugged at her earbobs, trying to think of nothing at all.
When the door swung open, fifteen minutes later, she was the first one there to catch Jon, as he had once caught her. He smiled at her tiredly, murmuring, “Not bad—if you like ordeals.”
Alanna bit back a laugh. Gary came up to take Jonathan’s other arm; they helped him to his rooms, where he could sleep for a few hours. With a sleepy wave, Alanna parted from Gary and went to the nearby chamber that had been prepared for her. The last thing she saw as she drifted off to sleep was her gold-washed mail, glimmering at her from the rack in the corner.
In his suite of rooms, Alex of Tirragen sharpened his sword. He was dressed in black and wearing breeches—he did not plan to attend the coronation. Testing the edge of his blade, he smiled.
Delia of Eldorne fussed with her hair at the mirror. Unlike Alex, she was in full court regalia, her emerald silk with its stiffened skirts rustling as she put last-minute touches on her appearance.
“Are
n’t you the least bit nervous?” she asked, adjusting a hair ornament.
“Why should I be?” was the cool reply. “He’s thought of everything.”
“What if Josiane succeeds?”
Alex chuckled. “Delia, have you no faith in our Champion? We have an appointment today, though she doesn’t know it.” He held up the sword, his eyes dreamy. “She won’t let a madwoman like Josiane prevent her from coming.”
Squire Henrim knocked and stepped into the room. “Lord Alexander, I let the men-at-arms into the back corridors near the Hall of Crowns. They’re concealed in the storerooms. Captain Chesli says the Eldorne men have taken their places inside the hall, among the crowd.” He bowed to Delia, who smiled.
Alex stood, sheathing his sword. “You’ll be with the men on the dungeon level. Before you go there, remind both captains they are not to act until the signal, which will come after the crown rests on Jonathan’s head. After the crowning, understand?”
The squire hesitated. “But—surely—he will be bound to the land. He will use Tortall’s magic against the Duke—”
“Idiot!” Delia snapped. “Do you think Duke Roger hasn’t planned for that? Don’t question your betters!”
Henrim bowed, shamefaced. “Forgive me, Lady Delia.”
With a sniff Delia turned back to her mirror.
“Follow your orders exactly,” said Alex. “If you fail, you will pay.”
“I won’t fail!” the squire promised hotly.
“Take the hidden stair, then. Dismissed.”
The youth bowed. “Good luck, my lord. And—long live King Roger!”
“Fool,” Alex whispered when the door closed. Of them all, he alone knew Roger’s real plans. He alone knew that those like Delia who planned to steal Jonathan’s throne so they could have power were in for a disappointment. He picked up his dagger and tested the edge. “Now—to work.”
