The Turncoat Prince

Chapter One-3

“Do you think I’ll die?” Darna asked.

Myril looked into her cup. “No. Not this year, and not the next year, but that doesn’t mean you should stay here and wait for someone to try to change your fate. You need to leave Anamat; I’m sure of that much.”

“Maybe I could go to that farm on the Western road that Thorat’s always talking about,” Darna said. That wouldn’t be too far, only a short walk to the city walls. She could manage that much except on days when the pain was at its worst, and she didn’t have those more than a few times a year.

“To Raina’s place?” Myril raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think so. The children would drive you mad, and besides, it’s too close. You can’t stay in the valley. Besides, I won’t have you bring your danger to Raina’s doorstep, not with all those children there and her other work.”

Darna sighed. “Then what can I do?”

“I don’t know yet,” Myril said. “Did you have any prophetic dreams?”

It was a ridiculous question. Myril was the one who had prophetic dreams, not her. Still, she tried to remember what dreams she’d had, if any. The only thing that came to her was an image of a horse, trudging along like a pack animal. She was on its back.

“A horse? I think I was riding a horse in my dreams.”

Myril shuddered. She didn’t like horses; no priestess did. They were foreign animals who shied at dragonlets.

“I can’t see you going to Enomae, but I can’t see anything else, either.” Myril stood up and went to her door, opening it a crack as if she had a visitor. Darna didn’t hear anything until Myril said, “Thank you,” and closed the door again.

Myril leaned against her door and looked at Darna. “The Aralel will be in her chambers until midday. I’m going to see if she can help.”

“Help with what?” Darna asked, half knowing the answer already.

“She might know which provinces are safest for you, and where they would welcome a new priestess without too much question.”

“I don’t want to go back to priestessing at all, much less in one of those kinds of temples.” The thought of hiding on her back with a succession of foreign sailors and pig-headed farmers between her bent legs had no appeal at all.

Myril sighed. “It’s all I can think of, though the winged ones know I wouldn’t choose it for myself, or for you.” She crossed over to a carved cabinet by the window and took out a small bag on a string – one of her protective amulets. She hung it around Darna’s neck. “I’ll be back soon,” she said. “Stay away from the window, and don’t open the door to anyone but me.”

Tears threatened to well up in Darna’s throat, but she stuffed them back. She hugged Myril and let her go. “Don’t be long.”

§

Darna sat alone in the darkest corner of Myril’s room and tried to read a scroll, but it was a dry old text about the herbs of the north, written in an uneven hand. She couldn’t concentrate. Myril had said that she wasn’t fated to die this year, but what if she was wrong? Myril’s predictions were good but not perfect, not perfect enough to justify leaving Anamat on her weak leg. To be sure, this was where any assassin would look for her, but it was also the biggest city in Theranis. Its back passages had hidden her before and could hide her again. It was home, more so than Tiadun had ever been.

She briefly considered the prospect of going back to Tiadun, to see for herself the grave of the dragon they’d killed, to take vengeance however she could. She would get herself killed faster than anything that way, but at least she wouldn’t be sitting around waiting for an arrow in her back. Still, the walk was long. She’d done it when she’d first come to the city, but she couldn’t see walking so far again, not alone.

After some time, there was a knock at the door, but whoever it was went away. A heavier footstep came and went. Darna edged over to the window and peeked out. A prince rode by on his high horse with mounted guardsmen all around him and pages blowing horns and shouting, “Make way! Make way!”

The princes had horses. She might be able to go to some prince’s keep, some rival of her uncle’s, and hide there. It was a good thought, but how could she accomplish it? She could hardly hire herself out as a cook or a seasonal servant. Contracts had to be arranged before Midsummer dawn, when the princes returned to their home realms with their hirelings in tow. Most of those contracts would be settled by now; it was only a day and a half before Midsummer night.

Tevan. He would go looking for her in her room, but not today. Tomorrow she would go back to her own place to say goodbye to him.

At length, Myril returned. Darna flew up to unbar the door and let her in. Thorat was right behind her.

“You were here all along?” Thorat asked before Myril had a chance to speak. “I was waiting at the bottom of the stair. I knocked.”

“I would have let you in if I’d known,” Darna said, wishing she had known. The time would have passed more pleasantly with company, if she hadn’t been mulling on the unpleasant subject of princes, their horses, and their hirelings.

“Never mind that; we’re all here now,” Myril said. She set down a pot – temple tea, by the smell of it – and poured for all of them.

“The Aralel says she can’t help.”

Myril sounded put out, but Darna couldn’t help but feel it was a relief.

“She says that the provincial temples are too much under the control of the princes,” Myril went on. “With the network of spies and gossips between one keep and the next, not to mention the usual priestess chatter. The temples are no place for a woman who wants to hide, she says. She’s worried about Gallia’s safety – she’s staying in the elders’ court for now. If Gallia finds you, the others won’t be far behind.” Myril looked at Thorat. “The Aralel agrees that the hills would be the best place for a woman who wanted to hide. I didn’t say who it was for, though. It’s rough living in the hills, good enough for someone like me… I think she was worried that I was the one who had to hide.”

“So much for the wisdom of the highest priestess in the land,” Darna said. “Hills probably aren’t much good for a cripple.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Myril said, “but in this case, I think you’re right. She did say that there was one province which almost never gives rise to any gossip, so much so that even the Aralel’s networks of rumors have dried up.

“Which province is that?” Thorat asked.

“Slaradun.”

“Tevan’s going to Slaradun,” Darna said, and that beginning of an inkling of an idea began to take shape.

§