He did not know what to say to that. Sidestepping the question seemed best. “My lady. Do you know what your uncle meant, when he said that?”

“That I’d help shape the future?” She smiled at him queerly, as though she knew something he did not. “Well…my uncle was always terribly cryptic, Elyon. Perhaps he knew I would become queen. That would be enough to shape the future, would it not? Or something much more simple than that. When you give a starving child some food, and they live, and go on to do great things, you shape the future. When you stop someone before they commit great evil, you shape the future. A gift can shape the future, would you not say?”

He was not sure what she meant. “A gift, my lady?”

“A gift, yes. If I gifted you a great weapon for you to slay your enemies, that would shape the future. If I gifted you knowledge, that would too. It is power, they say, the knowing of things. Words are power. And goodness, my uncle liked words. Words and riddles and puzzles and mysteries. Everything he saw in the Eye.” She looked at Elyon for a good long while, reflecting on something, some old memory. She seemed very sad all of a sudden. Then she broke out of it and waved a hand. “So, the Eye. Come then, let’s see it.” She pointed to a small table set before her. “Right there will do.”

Elyon saw no reason to refuse her, and nor did he have that right. Her name was on that great golden tree, after all, and Thala’s blood ran richly through her veins. He motioned to Walter to open the bag on his back, and the scruffy scribe did as bidden, drawing it from its cloth wrappings inside and placing it on the table before her. Her dark eyes reflected its gold and blue glow, swirling within the orb. Veins of golden light spread from the thin black pupil, shut tight to Elyon’s eyes, and to Walter’s as well, but to her?

Elyon watched, curious. He thought of those words Godrin told her. Was she lying about them? Misremembering? Was that just the sort of thing a kindly old uncle would say to a sweet young niece, to inspire and nurture her? One day you’ll help shape the future. Maybe he was talking about the Eye. And this moment. Perhaps she would see something to show the way?

Silence enrobed the chamber. The crone princess stared long and true at the orb, smiling in that odd way of hers, stroking a hand across its surface. Her gaze moved here and there as though following the swirls of blue and golden light, admiring their languid motion. Her eyes narrowed and her weaselly face scrunched up, and it seemed to Elyon that she was holding her breath and, frankly, trying too hard.

“My lady, if I may.”

“You may not. Be silent, Elyon Daecar. I am trying to concentrate.” She glared up at him, then returned her eyes to the pupil, willing it to open. Elyon’s hope faded. He had the distinct sense that he was wasting his time. At last the woman gave out a whooshing breath and leaned back, irritated. “Stupid thing. It’s broken. Where have you been keeping it? Down in some dusty old vault, I’m told. Well, you’ve ruined it. Oh, the colours shift prettily enough, but that pupil’s closed, and closed for good. Rasalan wants no further part of this. We’re on our own, yes we are.”

Elyon wouldn’t believe it. “Your brother may have better fortune,” he said. Or cousin. That about Godrin being his sire…

“He will try, of course. Sevrin always tries hard, not like me. That’s if you find him.”

“We will.” Elyon gestured for Walter to take back the Eye of Rasalan. Just the words of a kind uncle, he decided. The woman would be no help to him. He waited for Walter to return the Eye into the bag, and then inclined himself into a bow. “We will be on our way, Your Highness. Thank you for the wine and the warmth.”

“You’re going already?”

“Yes. There are hours of daylight left, and I would prefer to make haste.” He dipped his chin and stepped toward the door, Walter following.

“Wait,” Cristin said.

Elyon stopped, sighing, and turned. “Yes, my lady?”

“I haven’t yet given you your gift.” She clipped her fingers and her servant materialised from an alcove. Cristin whispered something in the man’s ear, and he slipped away once more, returning a moment later with a small wooden box in his hands. “Come,” the crone said, waving Elyon over. “For you, my handsome prince. The gift is inside.”

Elyon moved forward, intrigued. He took the box, wondering if this was just another part of her theatrics. A gift can shape the future, he thought. The box was plain, scratched, its hinges starting to rust. They creaked shrilly as Elyon opened the lid and looked within. A scroll? He reached in and took it out. It was old, sealed, dusty. The seal was the king’s. “What is this?” he whispered.

“A warhammer. What do you think it is? You have eyes, don’t you?”

“I meant…” He turned it over between his fingers. The seal had not been broken. There was no indication that it was addressed to him. “It’s for me?”

“Yes.”

“From…”

“My uncle Godrin,” she said.

“Godrin? But…”

“But he’s dead. I know. A while ago now. Did you ever meet him?”

Elyon shook his head. “I never had the pleasure,” he murmured, looking at the scroll.

“A pleasure it would have been…or a pain. My sweet old uncle was like that. Some men could not abide his riddles.” She drank her wine. “He said some curious things to me, as I told you. I’d help shape the future. That was one. Another was that one day I’d live in this very chamber, right here in the palace. I’d live here and a handsome prince would come, swooping from the skies. Well…you can imagine how that made a little girl feel. A handsome prince? Coming for me? Goodness, what could be more exciting? Trouble was, I didn’t live in the palace back then. So I went to my father…the gods know how many times I went to him…and asked if we could come live here too, so I could be here in this bedchamber for when my handsome prince arrived, but no…he would never have it. ‘My brother is the king, not me,’ he would say. He was bitter about that, being the younger brother, so he’d had us moved out of the city and over to Bleakrock instead. Dismal place. Well, it’s in the name, isn’t it? Have you ever been? Well good, don’t bother. It’s drear and cold and always wet. I hated it, and for a time I hated my father for making me live there. ‘There’s a handsome prince coming for me,’ I’d tell him. ‘But only to the palace. I have to live in the palace’.

“Well, he didn’t care for that. Nonsense, he called it. More lies from his older brother. He saw me for what I was, I suppose. Just an ugly little girl, with a weasel face and frizzy hair, and not all that important. Mayhaps he’d have made me a good pairing when I grew older, but no, I wanted this prince, this handsome prince who’d fly to my bedchamber. It was a dream for me, and became an obsession. So much so that one day I ran away. I couldn’t cope anymore. Years had passed since my uncle’s promise, and I fretted every night in my bed, in that horrid keep that overlooked the bleak grey sea, that this prince was coming and I wasn’t there. I had to be there. I had to.

“So I ran away. It took me almost a week to get here, and when I arrived, my old uncle Godrin put his hands on my shoulders and said, ‘Not yet, sweet Cristin. One day you’ll live here, in this room in the palace, but not yet. Be patient. This prince will come. He will fly to the city to meet you, and when he does, you must give him this. Can you do this for me, sweet girl? Will you be patient, and wait for him? And keep our little secret?’”

Elyon looked at the poor woman, frowning sympathetically. It was not a sweet tale, the way she told it. “That was cruel of him,” he said. “To give you that false hope.”

“Ah. Well…some might say. And me being such an ugly little girl. He did not intend it like that, no, but…” Her smile went sad. “But you’re here now. At last. Not in the way I’d hoped, but…” She nodded to the scroll. “I never looked. He told me not to, so I never did. He must have known you would come. My uncle…they say only Thala saw more clearly through the Eye than he did. So you read that note, Elyon Daecar. Read it and fulfil a dead man’s riddle, and leave this sour old woman to rest.”

Elyon did as she bid him. He broke the seal, unrolled the scroll, and read, running his eyes down the dead king’s words.

In Godrin’s graceful script was written a story. A love story, an adventure story, a story of shipwrecks and slavery and sacrifice. A story about a sister and a king, a nephew and a princess…a story about a girl in silver and blue.

48

“Feeling better, Ranulf?” the princess asked, as he stepped around the rock to rejoin her.

He brushed himself down and smiled wanly. “Yes, thank you, my lady. It must have been something I ate.”

Talasha Taan arched a sleek, black eyebrow. “Something you ate? Yes. It had nothing to do with the flight, of course.” She smiled at him. “I did not take you for a braggart, Ranulf Shackton. Why not admit to this failing? You do not have the stomach for dragonflight, there is no shame in it.”

Ranulf wiped away a bit of spittle from his chin with the back of his dusty sleeve. “I am a good friend to failure, my lady. It is failure that makes a man. Or woman, as the case may be.”

“Yet you still contend that it was something you ate that brought on this sudden sickness?”

“Of course. Something I ate, most certainly.” He grinned playfully. His stomach had been doing somersaults ever since they landed and it had taken his head a good long while to stop from spinning as well. It was, of course, the flight that had done it. He knew it, she knew it, but his pride demanded he spin the lie. I am the famed adventurer Ranulf Shackton, he told himself. I have scaled the highest peaks and sailed the wildest seas. I ought not be unmanned by a short hundred-mile flight.

“Well, just make sure to watch what you eat from now on,” the princess said, gamely playing along. “We have a much longer flight to make, and cannot be stopping every five minutes so you can bring up your breakfast and lunch.”

And dinner. The flight would be long enough to include all three meals, he judged. It might even take days. A long flight, a dangerous one, and an increasingly cold one too. “I will keep to a diet of fresh fruit and nuts, my lady,” he said. “They have always agreed with me.” He was not certain how long he could keep up this charade before he began to annoy her, but the princess seemed a good sport when it came to his jests. He had not known her long, but in their short days together she had supplied him with an ample allowance of laughter and smiles to accompany his silly japes.

As if she needed to be any more delightful. Hers was an exquisite beauty, exotic and rich and wild, yet she more than matched it with her wit and charm. And that laugh. Gods. Has there ever been a sweeter sound? It was small wonder the Varin Knight Lythian Lindar had fallen in love with her. Ah, poor Lythian. He does so struggle in that cold wet ruin of his.

“Saska struggled with her first flight as well, you know,” Talasha said. “Well, perhaps struggled is not the right word. Certainly not like you. She became somewhat queasy when we landed, though quickly settled after a few deep breaths. And I did subject her to rather more acrobatics. Our flight was terribly dull.”

“Not to me, my lady. One always remembers their first.”

She tipped her head back and laughed. “Too true. First flight. First fornication. I do hope your first coupling with a woman was better for you, Ranulf Shackton. Or did you throw up on her as well? Neyruu is not best pleased.”

Ranulf lowered his eyes. “Why do you think I’ve been hiding around that rock?”

She grinned and looked out across the dusty plain that led eastward to the clifftops. The soldiers and watchmen were still watching them warily, their blades drawn and arrows nocked just in case Neyruu should stir.

“They are still terribly tense,” Talasha observed.