The Book of the Blessed

Kingsboro

The bells had been ringing all day from every chapel, carillon and monastery, and as they crested the hill and looked on the red tiled suburbs that led to the great walled city of Kingsboro, sprawled across high hills, Myrne said, “I could really go for a pastry right now.”

Wolf looked at her, almost in disgust, and she said, “What?”

“You just said the the King of Westrial is dying! Those could be his death bells.”

“Neither one of is Westrian. I didn’t know him, and I’m sure you didn’t either. And I am very hungry.”

Wolf could not protest this wisdom, but it still seemed Myrne was being awfully cold about this as they rode into the valley beneath the King’s City, catching flashing glimpses of the River Westyl.

“And any mourning and shock I felt, ended two days ago. Unlike this bell ringing, which is unending.”

Myrne said, “Give me the purse. If you’re so sad you can’t eat, I will get food for the both of us.”

“We will be at the palace very soon.”

They were entering the outskirts of a village which seemed on the very outskirts of the villages spread past the city walls, and Myrne looked at Wolf with incredulity.

“Have you ever been to a palace?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I’ve never been to a palace.”

“Well, I grew up in one,” Myrne said, simply, “and I can tell you for free that nothing happens very quickly. So we’re going to stop for food.”

Kingsboro was an old city that long had burst past its walls, and even before they reached the East Gate, Wolf could tell that Myrne was impressed by Kingsboro, and she said, “It reminds me of Ambridge,” but impressed or no, she led him to the Tamlyn Bazaar and got cheese and bread and a skin of wine, then water from the public fountain in the Myerbur District. They saw the great Cathedral, the Red Kirk, on Varayan Gate, and through the Shepherd Vale made their way to Everdeen and the smaller but older Purplekirk. Red Kirk was built to impress, but Purplekirk was the dignified mother of the country. They took their slow time coming to the nearest gate of the castle, whose walls began in the city and whose limits extended beyond the walls.

“By the way,” she said, as they came to the gate, ‘I would like to be as invisible as possible.”

“Invisible as…”

“I don’t want to see anyone I might know.”

“Gods! How famous are you?”

Wolf knew that his own master was from the royal house of Rheged. He had met minorly royal people, lords, ladies, their children. That much did not surprise him about Myrne. But if the girl was from Hale, why in the world would she worry about being known here?

“From the sound of these bells we may be attending the funeral of a king. All manner of people, people my father wanted me to marry, my father for that matter, might come here. Cousins, all royal families are cousins one to another. I don’t wish to be known.”

They had asked the palace guard for Master Ohean and given a token of who they were, or at least who Wolf was, and one guard had gone to find the porter. Now, as the porter returned, Wolf said to the girl, “Who are you?”

“I am Myrne,” she said stubbornly. “My father is the Earl of Herreboro.”

“The most powerful lord in Hale!”

“How do you know such things?” Myrne demanded. “You said you were from Rheged.”

“But my family is of Hale. I know enough to know the Herreboros are descended from the Wulfstans, one of the few remaining families with Wulfstan blood.”

“I would thank you to forget that, seeing as everyone else has. It’s the only reason my father still has power. We shouldn’t talk about it again considering what happened to the rest of that clan.”

“Oh, you survived,” Wolf said. “You’ll keep on surviving.

But now the gates were open and servants said, “We’ll take your horses and your things.”

“Where to?” Wolf asked.

“I think the Master Ohean will show you.”

Wolf was dazed enough as they went through the baileys, looking up at the great towers and passing through courts, chicken yards, stable yards, walled off gardens. Myrne, her black hair swinging over her shoulders, looked more put out than anything.

“I promise I will never say a thing again, and we will hide the hell out of you. I’ve got secrets and I’ll keep yours too.”

“You have secrets?” Myrne looked at him, And then she said, “Of course you do. I don’t doubt you have a whole nest of secrets.”

“Nest? Like a viper?”

“Yes, and you can keep my secrets in that den of yours as well.”

But Ohean was crossing a yard before the main gate. With him came a dark haired girl who looked not unlike Myrne, and like Myrne she was informally dressed. Ohean was in a brown mantle and he came to them quickly before they could reach him.

“For some reason I feared for you, my Wolf,” he said. “There has been a black cloud over me for some time, and not simply the cloud of death.”

“Then the King is dead?” Wolf said.

Ohean blinked, “What?” Then he said, “No, not yet. These are coronation bells. I present you the Princess Imogen.”

Myrne and Wolf curtseyed and Imogen inclined her head awkwardly.

Ohean looked to Myrne and said, “You have brought a friend.”

“This is Myrne. She is of the Rootless Isle and,” Wolf almost stage whispered, “she has foreseen the King’s death. She said it plain as anything a few days back.”

“Then you are a seeress of power,” Ohean said to her.

Myrne forgot her fears and curtseyed the way she did before no lord and certainly no king.

“Lord Ohean,” she told him, rising, and pushing her black hair from her face, “I have received dreams and portents that there is one with you, one who had become close to you, who even at this time is in the gravest of dangers.”

“Anson,” Ohean and Imogen both whispered, looking to each other.

“The Prince?” Wolf and Myrne said.

Ohean nodded, then said, “But this is not the place to talk. Come, let us away from here.”

When they had entered the gallery under Longhall, away from much hustle and bustle and in the shadows, Ohean made a gesture with his hand and then said, “We are a little more free to speak, now.”

“I can perform a seeing tonight,” Myrne said. “But I would need help.”

“Master?” Wolf said to Ohean.

“It depends on who you are looking upon,” Ohean said.

“Possibly the Prince Cedd,” Myrne said.

“Then such a seeing would work best with one of his blood.”

“Prince Anson?” Wolf suggested, but Imogen said. “I will do it. If you only need me and not my skill, for I have none. I would do it with you.”

Myrne turned to her, smiling.

“Yes,” she said. “Princess, that would do fine.”