Ishbel sat in her blue tent, staring at the satchel which lay unopened on the camp table before her. To one side a brazier glowed, warming the interior of the tent, while the remains of a meal lay on another small table. Ishbel had not joined Maximilian, Egalion, and Garth this evening. Maximilian had a great deal to tell them, and she had thought it best she not be there.
Why had Maximilian given her the crown of Elcho Falling?
Ishbel had turned and ridden away from Lister as soon as she’d insulted him. Partly this was because she simply could not bear to stay in the company of the man who had cold-bloodedly caused her and Maximilian so much misery, partly it was to escape an already uncomfortable meeting, and partly because Ishbel could not trust herself to remain in the man’s company without causing him some bodily harm.
How could she have devoted twenty years of her life to him?
She took a deep breath, staring at the satchel as she tried to distract herself from Lister. She had not touched it other than to drop it on the table on her return. Hours had passed as she ate, bathed, dressed in her nightclothes, and then brushed out her long blond hair—listening as Maximilian and the Emerald Guard arrived back in camp, and half hoping that Maximilian would drop by to see his crown—but now she could not put the moment off any longer.
The satchel throbbed at her.
Indeed, the crown had been whispering to her from the moment she took the satchel from Vorstus.
Ishbel supposed she had grown up a little, because the crown’s whispering had not bothered her to anywhere near the same extent as she’d been bothered by Maximilian’s whispering rings. She’d managed to put its voice and words out of her mind, aware of its whispering, but not disturbed by it.
But now there were no more delaying tactics available to her. Ishbel took a deep breath and slid the satchel close. She undid the straps and folded back the leather flap. Then she took an even deeper breath, slid in her hand, and grasped the crown of Elcho Falling.
She froze, staring down at the satchel and her wrist as it vanished under the flap.
The crown was alive.
It was all Ishbel could do to keep her hand on its cool metal.
Ishbel, the crown of Elcho Falling said, do you remember what Isaiah said to you when first you met?
“No,” Ishbel muttered.
He said that you were the priestess of the Lord of Elcho Falling. That is why Maximilian gave me to you to keep for the moment.
“Oh,” Ishbel said, as she realized the meaning of what Isaiah had said to her, and the reason Maximilian had wanted her to have the crown.
“You should be the one to crown him,” said a voice behind her, and Ishbel whipped about, pulling her hand from the satchel.
Lister stood there.
Ishbel stared at him, for the moment so angry at his intrusion that she could find nothing to say.
He gave a little smile. “May I sit?”
“No.”
“Once you were pleased to see me. You hung off my every word.”
“You deceived me. You murdered my family in order to manipulate me into what you wanted. Had you never thought to merely ask, Lister?”
“Don’t be so angry, Ishbel. I did what was needed, and I can still aid and advise you. Besides, do not forget that you owe all your power to me—”
No, the crown said, and Ishbel understood that Lister could not hear it. You have far more power than what he gave you. Far more. The blood of Elcho Falling runs in your veins, and he envies it.
Then it hissed, again inaudible to Lister, and Ishbel involuntarily gave a small smile.
Lister mistook the reason for her smile. He relaxed, and reached for the back of a wooden chair, meaning to lift it close and sit down. “It is all behind us now, Ishbel. Between us, you and I can make of Maximilian what we need—”
“Get out.”
Lister froze in the act of sitting. “Ishbel—”
“Get out. You are nothing to me now, Lister. Meaningless. I suspect you are now very meaningless to Maximilian and to Elcho Falling as well. Go. Find some other poor soul to manipulate if you must, but leave us alone.”
“You will need me, Ishbel. Both you and Maximilian.”
“I can’t imagine the circumstances under which either of us would voluntarily call for your aid, Lister. You have delivered the crown. I’m sure Maximilian is grateful. Now…just go.”
Lister stared at her for a long moment, then he turned on his heel and left.
Ishbel closed her eyes and forced the muscles of her shoulders and neck to relax. The very sight of him made her feel nauseated.
All the people who had suffered and died due to his meddling.
And why? Would Maximilian have been any less the man he was now for not having spent seventeen years existing in hell? Would she have been any less the woman had she been allowed to grow within her loving family instead of living among their corpses?
Who was the greater fool? Lister for his meddling, or herself for perhaps alienating a man, a god, who could aid Maximilian?
“Maxel,” Ishbel murmured, rolling her head a little to stretch her neck and shoulders, “I hope I haven’t ruined this for you, too.”
Then she opened her eyes and looked at the satchel. Slowly, but now without any hesitation, she slid her hand in once more, took hold of the crown of Elcho Falling, and drew it forth.
For a long minute Ishbel held it in her hands, then she placed it atop the satchel on the table.
Ishbel knew its shape and proportions from holding it in her hands: three heavy rolled bands, probably of gold from the occasional glimpse she caught of them, twisted around each other to create a simple yet elegant crown. But she could barely see the golden bands. The entire crown was almost completely obscured by a roiling cloud of darkness.
“Why are you so dark?” she said. “Why the gloom?”
“Perhaps it sees you for what you are,” said another voice behind her.
Oh, for all the gods’ sakes! Ishbel turned about on her chair, hardly able to believe the fact of another intruder.
Ravenna stood in the center of the tent, very dark, very still.
“Ishbel,” Ravenna said, “do you not know how dangerous you are to Maximilian? Can you not see how—”
“Get out,” Ishbel said.
“Leave him,” Ravenna said. “Let him live.”
Ishbel rose from her chair and walked up to Ravenna. “Do you have nothing better to do than rail against me?”
“You will destroy him.”
Ishbel’s hand twitched, and she kept it by her side only with the greatest effort. “I must be a terrible threat to you, Ravenna. You hated me from the first moment you heard my name, I think.”
To Ishbel’s surprise, Ravenna’s eyes gleamed with tears. “You think this is about you, Ishbel? Only incidentally. All I want is Maximilian’s happiness and success. But you stand in the way. Step aside, Ishbel.”
“If you cared this much then you should have stayed at Maximilian’s side, Ravenna. Not abandoned him the moment you thought you’d found someone a little more powerful. What a mistake Drava was, eh?”
“You think you love Maximilian, Ishbel, but you will inevitably betray him, and Elcho Falling, and this land besides.”
“And this you have seen.”
“And this I have seen.”
“You are truly tedious,” Ishbel said. “Get out.”
This time Ravenna went.
“Ravenna.”
She turned about. A man approached her through the night.
“Lister,” she said, and gave a small bow of her head.
“Ishbel appears to have fallen out with both of us,” Lister said.
“Apparently.”
“You are being cautious,” said Lister, “but I wonder if we might talk. Your tent, perhaps?”
“I share my tent with my mother, and she is more Maximilian’s ally than mine.”
“Then we shall speak here, and I shall be brief, that neither of us perish from the cold. There is a rumor about this camp, Ravenna, that you aid the three Isembaardian generals against Maximilian.”
“Many people are too willing to speak ill of me.”
Lister waited.
“I do not know what you want,” Ravenna said. “You have been Ishbel’s ally and mentor for many years.”
Lister’s mouth curved in a sardonic smile. “Ishbel has not proved the loyal acolyte, I fear. You seem somewhat…disenchanted with her yourself.”
“I fear that she will bring Maximilian nothing but sorrow.”
“In what way?”
Ravenna hesitated. She sensed that Lister was not antagonistic to her, and that he entertained doubts, either about Maximilian or Ishbel.
“For months,” Ravenna said, “I have been troubled with a vision.”
“Can you share it?” Lister said.
Again Ravenna hesitated, but not so long this time. “Yes,” she said, and led Lister into the Land of Dreams.
When the vision had faded, and Lister and Ravenna once more stood in the snow, Lister spoke softly.
“Have you shown this vision to Maximilian?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He prefers to ignore its clear warning. He is weak, and I worry.”
“He loves her.”
“A love you engineered.”
Lister chuckled. “Am I being blamed?”
“I want to know why you are here talking to me.”
“Are you aiding the generals?”
“Why do you wish to know?”
Lister did not answer immediately. “If Maximilian makes one misstep,” he said eventually, “Elcho Falling will be destroyed. Ravenna, marsh witch, do you know what Elcho Falling really is?”
“I have a good idea.”
Again Lister chuckled. “You do not allow your secrets to slip easily, Ravenna, and that is a commendable quality.”
“We are both proving equally adept at this sidestepping dance, Lister. What do you want from me?”
“I think I may need an ally,” he said, leaning so close that his breath frosted in her face, “as I think also do you. Tell me, Ravenna, is that a child you carry in your belly?”
“Yes.”
“Maximilian’s child?”
“Yes.”
“A son.”
“Yes.”
Lister smiled. “Have you met my friend and helper, Vorstus? No? Then perhaps we can track him down, and find ourselves a fire, and talk some more.”