— 36 —

Tobin never learned what the king had said to Korin after their return from Rilmar. In private, Ki wondered what Melnoth and the others had actually reported. The mission had been a success, after all, and that had been the joyous announcement at court when they’d returned to Ero, with the dried blood on their faces.

Life did change, however. They were all full warriors now, in the eyes of the world, and two days after the Sakor festival, they once again donned their finest garments for Korin’s wedding.

Royal weddings were rare and portentous events, so there’d been considerable speculation as to why Prince Korin’s was so hastily thrown together. There had been little time for the proclamation to be carried through the land, and attendance was a bit scanty because of it. Nonetheless, when the great day came the entire city was decked and garlanded, and every temple sent clouds of rose-scented incense up into the cold winter air with prayers for the couple’s happy future.

The ceremony was before the great shrine inside the New Palace and was witnessed by a great crowd of family and nobles. Crowned and regal, King Erius wore a red robe of state heavily embroidered with gold and bright jewels. Korin wore a long tunic of similar design, and a coronet. Tobin stood with them in his best surcoat and the rest of the Companions flanked them on the left. Tobin keenly felt the gap in their numbers. Arius was dead, Quirion banished for cowardice, and Barieus was with Lutha, who was still recovering at his father’s estate near Volchi.

The arrow wound had been slow to heal, but a bout of pneumonia had come closer to killing him than the shaft. Fortunately, the drysian at Rilmar had been right; Lutha stubbornly clung to life and was strong enough now to write to his friends, complaining bitterly of boredom. No one spoke of it openly, but it remained to be seen whether he would recover sufficiently to rejoin them.

In the outer courtyard of the shrine, a chorus of young girls tossed pearls and silver coins into the air and burst into song, announcing the arrival of the bridal party. The crowd parted as they entered.

Aliya looked like a queen already. She wore a gold coronet fashioned to look like a wreath of flowers, and strands of pearls and golden beads were braided into her shining auburn hair. More pearls, citrines, and amber beads crusted her shimmering gown of bronze silk. Some clever seamstress had arranged the waistline to hide any telltale rounding of the bride’s belly.

Standing with his father and the high priests of the Four, Korin received her from her father’s arm and they knelt before Erius.

“Father, I present to you the Lady Aliya, daughter of Duke Cygna and his lady, the Duchess Virysia,” Korin said solemnly, but loud enough for all to hear. “Before the gods and these witnesses, I humbly ask your blessing on our union.”

“Do you give your daughter freely to my son?” Erius asked her parents, who stood just behind the couple.

The duke laid his sword reverently at the king’s feet. “We do, Your Majesty.”

“May the blood of our houses be mingled forever,” Duchess Virysia said, giving the king the symbolic dower gift of a caged dove.

Erius smiled down at Korin and Aliya. “Then my blessing is given. Rise, my son, and present my new daughter.”

Aliya rose, blushing happily. Erius took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks, then whispered something in her ear that made her blush even more. Eyes sparkling, she kissed his hands.

Turning them to face the assembly, Erius joined their hands and covered them with his own. “See, people of Ero, your future king and queen. Send runners through the kingdom!”

Everyone cheered and threw millet in the air to ensure that the union would be fertile. Tobin caught Ki laughing as he did so and couldn’t help chuckling himself.

The proclamation was repeated again before the people of the city later that morning. Following Skalan custom, the king threw a lavish public feast afterward that lasted until dawn the following morning. Bonfires burned all over the city, and long banquet tables were set up in the same square where the execution platform had stood. Some whispered that the tables had been made from the same timbers.

The principal guild masters and merchants were seated; others crowded along the edges of the square or watched from windows and rooftops. Food arrived by the cartload, wine flowed in rivers, and when night fell, Zengati fireworks lit the skies for hours.

Tobin and the other Companions watched from the snowy roof gardens of the New Palace. Somewhere downstairs, Korin and his princess had taken possession of their new chambers. Zusthra and Alben were speculating gleefully on what was currently going on.

Tobin and the others ignored them, excitedly discussing what was to come tomorrow. At midday they were to set sail with the future king and his consort on a royal progress of the coastal cities. They’d spent weeks watching the ships being prepared. In addition to the royal bark, there was a veritable flotilla of other vessels carrying Korin’s guard, entertainers, horses, a small army of servants and craftsmen, and one vessel devoted solely to feeding the whole entourage. They’d be gone for nearly a year.

“Well, it’s not going off to war,” Ki observed, “but at least it gets us out of town.”

The fireworks were still blazing overhead when they heard someone running up the balcony stairs toward them.

“Prince Tobin! Where are you, Master?” a thin, panicked voice cried out.

“Here, Baldus! What’s the matter?”

A brilliant white burst in the sky illuminated the page’s pale face as he reached them. “Oh please, come down at once. It’s terrible!”

Tobin caught him by the shoulders. “What is it? Is someone hurt?”

“Aliya!” Baldus panted, out of breath and clearly upset. “She’s sick, her woman says. Prince Korin is frantic!”

Tobin dashed for the stairs. Only when he’d reached the lighted corridor below did he realize that Caliel had followed. Neither spoke as they ran on together through the endless hallways and courtyards to Korin’s rooms. Rounding a final corner, they nearly collided with a man in the livery of Duke Cygna. Beyond him, a knot of nobles hovered around the prince’s door.

“Talmus, what’s happened?” Caliel demanded.

The servant was pale. “My lady—The princess, my lord. She’s ill. Bleeding.”

Caliel clutched at Tobin’s arm. “Bleeding?”

Tobin went cold. “It’s not plague?”

Talmus shook his head. “No, Highness, not plague. The drysians say she’s losing the child.”

Tobin slumped down onto one of the chairs that lined the corridor, too stunned and sorrowful to speak.

Caliel joined him and they listened to the weeping of the women down the corridor. Now and then a muffled cry could be heard inside.

The king soon joined them. His face was flushed with wine, but his eyes were clear. He swept past Tobin and the crowd at the door parted for him as he went inside. As the door opened, Tobin thought he could hear Korin weeping, too.

It was dawn before it was over. Aliya survived, but the child did not. That was the Maker’s blessing, the drysians murmured afterward. The tiny child, no bigger than a newt, had neither face nor arms.