Chapter Text
Alanna drew a deep breath. "What's my third fear? I may as well hear it now and get it over with."
"Roger, Duke of Conte." The Goddess's voice was low, soft and deadly.
In this world, the conversation goes much as it did in the other. It’s just that Alanna is … not entirely correct about the Duke of Conte (and the Goddess, knowing it, doesn’t say so much about defeating him.)
The Goddess rose. "The Chamber is only a room, though a magical one, and you will enter it when the time comes. Duke Roger is only a man, for all he wields sorcery. But you, my daughter—learn to love. You have been given a hard road to walk. Love will ease it. Much depends on you, Alanna of Trebond. Do not fail me!"
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Duke Roger settled into the chair before his fire, picking up a chess piece from the game set up there. It was a pawn. The man smiled ironically; before the Black City he had thought Alan of Trebond was a pawn. A Gifted, athletic pawn, but a pawn nevertheless; a pawn who could be moved around by Roger. The Black City—and tonight's bout with Dain—had taught him differently. Alan of Trebond was dangerous.
The question was not if he would like to slow – or even stop – Alan of Trebond’s career. Roger didn’t like magical rivals. He would love to ensure Alan of Trebond didn’t become one, or to remove him (in a way that seemed natural) if he already was one. But would doing so affect his plans? The boy had a habit of saving Prince Jonathan’s life, both with the Sweating Sickness and in the Black City.
Duke Roger had initially planned to be a … more active king than his uncle. But his cousin, Jonathan, was already showing signs he would do the same. Serving as a trusted advisor to a more active ruler would let him implement many of the same changes, without final responsibility for all the headaches. Best to keep Jon alive, then, and if that meant he had to tolerate a magical rival he would normally prefer to slow, so be it.
Only if he had to, though. To determine whether the first incident had been a fluke, he had questioned the boy further, reaching into his mind to see if Alan had any secrets. He remembered that moment even now—feeling his magic sliding over glass walls behind those innocent eyes. A power that attacked him would have made it clear what the boy was. This … did not. His twin, too, either was a fool or played one well. Lucky fools, even powerfully Gifted ones, didn’t stay lucky forever, and he needn’t concern himself with the protection of his cousin when eliminating foolish potential rivals. But clever, protected, and loyal rivals? He might need to suffer these twins, to keep his plans being changed again by a cousin with a penchant for nearly dying. But he could continue to test Alan of Trebond, and if he were merely lucky, eventually he would fail.
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One evening in late July she and Faithful were standing watch just below the falls. They were alone at the moment. The soldier sharing the watch with them was having trouble with a healing leg, and Alanna had sent him back to camp for a replacement. He had not been gone long when a twig snapped behind them. Alanna spun, leveling her spear at her visitor.
Orange light flared against a hand, making Duke Roger's face briefly visible. Faithful pressed against Alanna's ankles, hissing and spitting.
"Stop it," Alanna told him, slowly lowering the spear. Faithful obeyed. "Your Grace. Aren't you out late?"
"Not really. Sit down, please. I know you still tire easily."
"You did a brave thing, tracking down the man Thor and hearing his story. It's a pity you collapsed before you made it back to camp; you might have captured the traitor."
Alanna shrugged without taking her eyes off Jonathan's cousin. "Don't think I haven't kicked myself about that, sir, several times."
Silence fell between them, stretching out over endless moments. I won't ask why he's here, Alanna told herself grimly. He'll get to it in his own time. He didn't come up here just to be polite.
Suddenly Duke Roger said, "We are not friends, are we, Alan?"
Alanna tightened her hands on her spear. This was coming to grips with a vengeance! "No, Your Grace, we're not," she replied evenly.
Without the light of his Gift it was hard to read the Duke's face. "Might it be possible we are enemies?"
Alanna thought about this, and about his reasons for asking. "I don't know," she said finally. ''Perhaps you should tell me."
“I could be a very good friend, Alan.”
Her throat was dry. What kind of game was he playing? Was this a warning—or a threat? "I have no desire to make you my enemy, sir. I'd like to live to a ripe old age and die in my sleep."
White teeth flashed in a grin against his shadowed face. "I can sympathize. Such an ending could be yours—if we were friends. Many things could be yours."
Alanna shifted her hold on the spear; her fingers were getting numb. "I would have to be assured that my other friends have the same chance, Your Grace," she said boldly. "Frankly, I doubt that's your aim."
“Because my cousin has been so … accident-prone? No, I’d rather be his trusted advisor many years hence than see him fall.”
Alanna wasn’t sure what to make of that. “And me? Why all this attention to me?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about my reputation, regarding the careers of especially promising young mages,” he said. “It’s true enough, but if your tendency to save my cousin from his accidents is not merely luck, I am prepared to tolerate a magical rival – so long as he is not my enemy.”
“If you’re no enemy of my other friends – or of my brother – then I have no reason to make you my enemy. I’m … uncertain we would be friends, however.”
Roger bowed. "I appreciate your honesty, Alan of Trebond. Not many dare be so open with me."
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Several nights later, Alanna was on guard duty again. Until she wasn’t.
Roger knew nothing other than the kind of spell that had been used on the cat and the sleeping guard. "Any village healer can do it, I'm afraid," he told Jonathan grimly. "Sleep is particularly easy to create, because it is something the body does naturally." He gazed out the window and sighed, knowing Jonathan was watching him closely. "A pity about your squire. With your father's orders. . . . We'll have to wait for a ransom demand. Alan's obviously a noble, and even Duke Hilam won't dare to flout the conventions of war."
But no demand came, and Jonathan planned his rescue.
Not long after he left, Myles and Roger were playing chess when a guardsman burst in to whisper hurriedly into Roger's ear.
Myles saw with interest that Jon's cousin suddenly turned white.
"What?" the Duke snapped.
The guardsman bowed. "It's true, Your Grace. More than thirty of them, I'd guess. They've fired the huts the enemy built on the north side of their camp. I saw it myself from the wall."
Jumping to his feet, Roger turned on Myles, his eyes burning. "Do you know what my precious cousin has done? He's trying to rescue his squire! Who can’t save him from his own follies until after he’s managed it!”
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“"Myles," Alanna began one December night as they were playing chess, "does the Queen's weakness look—right to you?"
"It looks like it's killing her." Myles frowned. "Is that supposed to look 'right' to me?"
Alanna examined a knight thoughtfully. "Duke Baird's the finest healer in Tortall. Why can't he help the Queen?"
Myles looked sharply at her. "This isn't just idle conversation, is it? What's bothering you?"
Alanna nibbled her thumbnail. "I don't like it," she admitted. "I saw how much Duke Baird can do at the Drell. He's blessed by the gods. A fever, a cough—Duke Baird can heal those things in a moment. But now he can't. The only other time I saw him this helpless was during the Sweating Sickness." She moved a pawn forward one square. "There are some people who think the Sweating Sickness was caused by a sorcerer. You were one of them, remember?"
"Do you think there's a connection?" Myles asked.
"I don't know what to think," Alanna replied. Then she shook her head. "Yes, I do. You know what I suspect. He talked to me one night in Tusaine, about a week before I was kidnapped. He was … surprisingly open. He wants to be Jonathan’s trusted advisor when he’s King, rather than deal with the headache of final responsibility himself, so Jon’s safe. But he’s ruthless in ways that make me wonder if he’d hurry that time along. “
"You have no proof," Myles replied steadily.
"Duke Roger isn't a careless man," Alanna said bitterly. "I have only what I've seen and what I think."
She got up and poked the fire, her jaw tight with anger.
"You hate Roger, don't you?" Myles asked quietly. He poured them each a glass of wine.
“He made no bones about his willingness to sabotage potential magical rivals, and that he would have done for me if I hadn’t saved Jonathan’s life, repeatedly. Loyal to Jon or no, he’s evil. So yes, I hate the Duke of Conte.”
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Duke Roger found Alanna while she was packing, door open in case any of her friends came by to wish her well. “Your Grace,” she said.
“May I come in?” he asked. “I have something I wish to discuss.”
Alanna nodded, and waved for him to sit. Hating the Duke of Conte was a reason to know what he was planning, not to kick him out of the rooms she would shortly vacate.
“I know we are … less than friends, and you have no reason to trust me,” he began.
“I believe that you are unlikely to try to hurt me or my friends, because doing so wouldn’t help with your plans. But that is not general trust, no,” Alanna told him. “I asked Thom to protect Jon while I’m away, by the way.”
The Duke raised an eyebrow. “To protect Jon, or to make sure your brother would be safe from me?”
“Bit of both,” Alanna admitted. “Despite your watchful eye, my protection has mattered.”
“And telling me you asked would protect your brother. In any case, that’s not why I’m here. I have something to offer you, before you leave.”
“What is it?”
“A token, of sorts. It won’t tell me where you are, but it will extend my range to contact you, in case someone at the palace needs to send word to you urgently.”
“And why should I trust that’s all it will do?”
“You shouldn’t. You should have your brother help you verify that’s all it will do. But that is, in fact, all it will do.”
Cautiously, she took the flat stone, engraved at the top with the Conte seal.
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Thom examined the stone thoroughly. “No, this stone is safe. In fact, I think I could make a pair so we could send word to each other, if needed. Not easily, even with the assistance, but it should extend our ranges to contact each other.”
“Please do. I’d rather Roger not be my fastest source – or my only source – of news from the palace.” She thought a moment. “That was the trick in him giving me the stone, wasn’t it? No need to make it do anything besides what he said – being the only person at the palace who could send me news quickly, once I got far enough away —that’s what he wanted from it.”