LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

for those who snickered.

      Tobin’s friend Arengil was among the noble youths who joined the Companions for lessons and his friendship with Tobin and Ki soon deepened. Quick-witted and humorous, the Aurënfaie had a great talent for acting and could mimic anyone at court. Gathered with the younger Companions in Tobin’s room at night, he’d reduce them all to helpless laughter with his haughty, mincing impression of Alben, then seem to transform into another body as he became hulking, sullen Zusthra or stooped old Raven.

      Korin and Caliel sometimes joined them, but more often now the older boys slipped out on their own to the lower city. The morning after such excursions they’d turn up for the temple run with bloodshot eyes and superior smirks, and regaled the younger boys with their exploits when they thought Porion wasn’t listening.

      The others listened with a mix of admiration and envy, but Ki soon grew concerned for Lynx. Everyone knew he was hopelessly smitten with Orneus, but his lord now thought of nothing but keeping up with the prince in drinking and carousing, something Orneus was remarkably ill suited for.

      “I don’t know what poor Lynx sees in that wastrel anyway,” Ki would grumble, watching the sad-eyed squire clean up his friend’s sour vomit, or carrying Orneus back to their room when he was too drunk to walk.

      “He wasn’t like that when they first came here,” Ruan confided as they sat toasting lumps of hard cheese over the hearth at Tobin’s house one night. Snow was falling and everyone was feeling cozy and grown-up without the older boys around.

      “You’re right about that,” Lutha agreed around a mouthful of cheese. “My father’s estate is near his and we saw each other often at festivals and parties before we came to the Companions. He and Lynx were like brothers, but then—” He shrugged, blushing. “Well, you know how it goes with some. Anyway, Orneus is a good enough fellow, but I think the only reason he got chosen as a Companion was on account of his father’s influence at court. Duke Orneus the Elder has a holding almost as big as yours at Atyion.”

      “If I’m ever allowed to go there, I’ll see what you mean,” Tobin grumbled. Even with Orun out of the way, bad weather had put an end to their travel plans for now and Korin seemed to have forgotten his promise.

      “That’s how it goes,” Nikides said. “It’s not like I’d be sitting here if I wasn’t the Lord Chancellor’s only grandson.”

      “But what you lack in fight, you make up for in brains,” Lutha replied, always quick to bolster his friend. “When the rest of us are getting bravely hacked to pieces on some battlefield, you’ll be here with your grandfather’s velvet ashcake on your head, running the country for Korin.”

      “And poor Lynx will probably still be tying Orneus into the stirrups because he’s too drunk to ride,” Ki added with a laugh.

      “It’s Lynx who should be the lord,” Barieus piped up hotly. “Orneus isn’t worthy to do up his boots.” When everyone turned to stare at him, he hastily busied himself with a toasting fork. The swarthy little squire usually said very little about anyone, and never against a Companion.

      Ki shook his head. “For hell’s sake, doesn’t anyone like girls but me?”

      Tobin kept quiet during Raven’s lessons for some weeks. He didn’t always understand what the old man was talking about, but listened intently and questioned the other boys afterward. He always made certain to ask Korin, but quickly discovered that Caliel and Nikides were more knowledgeable. Caliel, the son of a general, had a good mind for strategy. Nikides had the best head for history and had read more books than the rest of them put together. When Tobin and Ki both showed a genuine interest in the old stories, it was Nikides who introduced them to the royal library, located in the same wing as the abandoned throne room.

      In fact, it took up nearly that entire wing, room upon room overlooking the eastern gardens. At first Tobin and Ki felt lost among the endless towering racks of scrolls and tomes, but Nik and the black-robed librarians showed them how to read the faded labels on each rack, and soon they were delving into treatises on arms and battle, as well as colorful books of poetry and stories.

      Tobin soon learned his way around and discovered a whole room devoted to the history of his family. He asked the librarian about Queen Tamír, but there were only a few dusty scrolls, dry records of the few laws and taxes she’d passed. There was no history of her brief life or reign and the librarian knew of no other sources.

      Tobin recalled Niryn’s strange reaction, that day at the Royal Tomb, when Tobin had mentioned what he’d been taught of her murder. The wizard had vehemently denied it, though both his father and Arkoniel had told him the same story. Her brother had killed her, and ruled briefly in her place before coming to a bad end himself.

      Disappointed, Tobin slipped away from his friends and walked down to the sealed doors of the old throne room. Pressing his palms to the carved panels, he waited, hoping to feel the murdered queen’s spirit through the wood the way he’d sometimes felt his mother’s ghost at the tower door. The Old Palace was supposed to be haunted by all sorts of spirits. Everyone said so. According to Korin, their own grandmother’s bloody specter still wandered these halls on a regular basis; that was why his father had built the New Palace.

      It seemed every chambermaid and door warder had some ghost story to tell, yet except for one glimpse of Tamír inside the throne room, Tobin had never seen anything. He supposed he shouldn’t complain—he’d had enough of ghosts already—but sometimes he wished Tamír would come back and make herself clearer. Given what he now knew about himself, he was certain she’d been trying to tell him something important when she’d offered him her sword. But Korin and the others had distracted him, and before he could speak to her, she’d vanished.

      Was she trapped inside, unable to come out? he wondered.

      Returning to the library, he found an unoccupied chamber not far from the throne room. Unlatching one of the windows, he pushed it open and climbed out onto the wide stone ledge that ran along the walls just below. Snow filled his shoes as he inched along to the broken window they’d entered by the night Korin and the others had played at being ghosts.

      It had been too dark to see much then. Tobin squeezed through and found himself standing at one side of a huge, shadowy hall. Pale winter light filtered dimly through cracks in the tall, shuttered windows.

      The worn marble floor still showed the marks where benches and fountains had been. Tobin got his bearings and hurried toward the center of the room, where the massive marble throne still stood on its raised dais.

      He’d been too scared to examine it closely last time, but saw now that it was beautiful. The arms were carved like cresting waves, and symbols of the Four were inlaid in bands of red, black, and gold across the high back. There must have been cushions, but they were gone and mice had built a nest in one corner of the broad seat.

      The chamber had a sad, neglected air about it. Sitting down on the throne, Tobin rested his hands on the carved armrests and looked around, imagining his ancestors hearing petitions and greeting dignitaries from far-off lands. He could feel the weight of years. The edges of the dais steps were worn smooth in places, where hundreds of people had knelt before the queens.

      Just then he heard a sigh, so close to his ear it made him jump up and look around.

      “Hello?” He should have been afraid, but he wasn’t. “Queen Tamír?”

      He thought he felt the cool brush of fingertips against his cheek, though it could have been nothing more than an errant stir of breeze through one of the broken windows. He heard another sigh, clearer this time, and just off to his right.

      Following the sound with his eyes, he noticed a long, rectangular stain on the floor beside the dais. It was about three feet long, and no wider than his palm. The rusted stumps of iron bolts and a few bits of broken stonework still marked where something had stood.

      Something. Tobin’s heart leaped.

       Restore …

      The voice was faint but he could

Скачать книгу