Kingfisher(36)

It was also, when the door was closed and the candle lit, the most private place in the palace.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady Seabrook,” Holly said tightly. “We came here to talk.”

“Then you might as well join us,” Morrig said, waving a hand at the shadows. “They won’t mind. They like company. And they’re incredibly discreet. They won’t say a word outside this room.”

The mystes shook her head, unable to speak. Abruptly, she walked out of her shoes, pulled up her robe, and stepped into the water. She shifted candles, sat down on the edge of the pool, the flickering reflections of light around her ankles rippling across the gentle fall of water from the endlessly weeping globe. She held the book out to Perdita.

“Will you read this, Princess? Where I have marked it. I’m too upset.”

Wondering, Perdita opened the pages. The queen settled herself on a bench beside the mystes; the princess sat under a tall branch of candles and began to read.

“‘The god Severen lay dying. His mighty rush from mountain to sea slowed. His shores became barren as waters ebbed. Fish died in great numbers, all down the long path he made to the sea. The great herds that drank from him fought and thinned and dwindled for the lack of him. No cloud hid the burning sun from dawn through night and again dawn. No rain fell. The god lay dying. Frogs and salamanders died; mosses grew dry and died; the great birds that fed on the creatures of the river died for the lack of them. Daily, the water grew shallow, grew inward, far from its shores; the river bottom grew hard and dry as stone. And the great mouth of the river dried as it opened to the sea; no water came down to give life to those that spawned in sweet and followed the salt to the sea.

“‘In his weakness, in his dire distress, the river god took his human aspect and prayed for water as it left his veins.

“‘She came then, in answer to his call. Though he had overwhelmed her, carried her to the sea over and over without thought or shame, she came to him. She raised his head up from the dead mosses and reeds and held her healing vessel to his lips. He drank. He drank.

“‘His veins filled. His waters quickened. He drank. He opened his eyes and saw her face between his face and the sun, shading him like a cloud.

“‘The sky remembered how to fashion cloud; cloud covered the sun everywhere across the land, and everywhere from dawn to night and again to dawn the hard, sweet rains began to fall.’”

“You see?” Mystes Halliwell said in bitter triumph to the princess and the queen. “Calluna and her cup. Her power. Not Severen’s. She saved his life.”

“Surely Lord Skelton knows the tale,” the queen said.

“He does, my lady. He says that since the only written version of that tale is less than four centuries old, and he has never seen an older reference to the tale, it is too recent to be of interest.”

“Is that where you got the book? From Sylvester?” Morrig asked.

“No, of course not. He wouldn’t lend me the time of day. The book belongs to us. I found it in the sanctum library. I’ve been searching the archives for anything that pertains to this tale. Anything that Lord Skelton didn’t find first, that is. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a few things hidden on his shelves that could point toward the truth of the matter.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” the queen said quickly. “He is too much a scholar.”

“And another thing,” Holly said, with great indignation. “Dame Cecily Thorpe, who was one of my acolytes before she decided to train for knighthood, told me that some of the knights, who are speculating wildly over nothing but rumor at this point, are planning to search Calluna’s cave for the mysterious object of power. They can’t just go barging through the sacred shrine, wading down the water, and shining headlamps on everything. The idea is outrageous. First they bury the cave and forget it completely; now they want to excavate it.” She kicked at the water angrily, sent it splashing, dowsing candles in its wake. She blinked as the queen wiped her face. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I’m frothing, and it’s all Sylvester Skelton’s fault.”

Perdita got up to relight the candles, tipping flames to smoking wicks along the pool. “We have to find an earlier version of Calluna’s tale,” she said. “Lord Skelton may be obsessed by his version, but he’s not at all devious. If we could prove the cup belongs to Calluna, he could be persuaded out of his certainty.”

“Or we could just find the cup,” the queen said.

Perdita, lighting a final wick, found the queen’s eyes on her above the flame. She was looking, her daughter realized, for a reason.

“We,” she echoed. “You mean me.”

“Why not? Nothing in the stars says that only knights should go on this quest. People are used to seeing you in Calluna’s cave. Nobody would question your presence there. You could look for the artifact anytime you want. Tomorrow morning. Before the cave opens to the public.”

Mystes Halliwell lifted her feet, splashed again with excitement. “Yes. That’s the perfect idea, Your Majesty.”

“I’ve been trained to give tours of the cave,” Perdita reminded them. “I’ve seen all the images, and I know what the scholars say about them.”

“Scholars,” Morrig said, stirring the water with her fingertips. “Always getting us into trouble, putting up walls, naming things. You must look beyond those walls, Perdita. Beyond the designated path. Trespass into the past.”