“Aezil is dead,” she told him. “No longer can he see through your eyes.”
Maddek looked from Toric to Yvenne, realization dawning. “That was how Zhalen knew to find the hollow?”
Jaw clenched against rage and grief and shame, Toric nodded. “I didn’t realize he was there,” he admitted in a thick voice, and touched the back of his head. “I thought the odd feel was lingering sickness and fever. But I showed him the way to our queen.”
“It is no fault of yours,” Maddek firmly said. “You need not go anywhere.”
“But it wasn’t only Aezil.” Fists clenched, Toric looked at them all with renewed determination. “Vela said it was her brother’s poison. Enam. And that god is still here. I still feel him. So perhaps the Destroyer can see through me, too. And he will see all that our queen does to build the alliance against him.”
“We cannot know that he could,” Yvenne said quietly, heart hurting for him. So fascinated he’d been by the knowledge that Vela was always looking through her eyes, and the gifts it brought. Yet now a god looked through Toric’s eyes and the knowledge only brought him pain.
“We cannot know that he couldn’t.” Throat working, Toric said, “I will visit the Tolehi monks first. Perhaps they know how to remove Enam’s poison from within me. Or blind him, so he cannot see through me. And if not, I will search for answers elsewhere. But I will not remain here and risk everything you try to build. After you have defeated the Destroyer . . . then I can return.”
Yvenne looked to the others, saw the need to persuade him to stay on the warriors’ faces—yet no words to do it with. And so there was only pain and frustration and loss.
Except from young Seri, who scraped meat from bone with her teeth as she told him, “You have to return. You are the greatest warrior in our tribe, so obviously you are the only warrior I would ever deign to marry.”
Toric choked on a laugh. “Perhaps I will return for that, then.”
The girl grinned at him, and lightness returned to the other warriors’ faces. But still, it was pleasure and pain, as a wedding feast became a goodbye feast, as well.
* * *
• • •
When it was full dark, Maddek carried her up the steps that led to the top of Syssia’s great wall. Cradled against his chest, she told him softly, “I can climb these better now.”
“So you can. But not once this night will I let you out of my arms.”
Nor would she let go of him. High they climbed, because Yvenne had not known where else to go. To claim her husband within the citadel seemed to show preference for Syssia. To claim him in the Parsathean camps outside the wall seemed to show preference for them. But in this way, they could be both.
The great wall was wide enough for horses to ride its length six abreast, and so their furs they easily spread between the battlements. Yet not immediately did they lie upon them, for this was a view such as neither Yvenne nor Maddek had ever had. All of the city they could see, as celebrations carried into the night. Many warriors still remained within the walls, though not all, because even a city such as hers had not enough grasslands to feed tens of thousands of horses. So across the rolling green fields outside the wall, many horses grazed amid the camps—joined by many Syssians, especially those who had shared blades with Parsathean warriors that day.
So full her heart was as she looked—then lifted her gaze farther east. “Enox rides to Rugus next?”
“She does,” Maddek said softly behind her, kissing the length of her neck.
“I am next in line to the throne,” she told him. “But I do not want to take that crown. So I know not what to do.”
Her husband’s strong arms came around her, pulling her back against his chest. “I have a suggestion.”
“I will take any.”
“Your brother imprisoned Commander Iova. Free her, and allow her to act as regent until the people of Rugus choose their own queen or king.”
“As Parsathe does?”
He nodded against her hair.
Perhaps a difficult change to make. Or perhaps easier than she knew. “That is a fine suggestion. Should I do the same for Syssia?”
He laughed. “What would be the purpose? They would have no other but Nyset’s heir.”
“Perhaps not, but they would choose.” She sighed. “Though I could not make that change, even if I wanted to. I am not truly a queen yet. And will not be until I reach a queen’s age or until . . . until . . .”
Her breath hitched, and so tightly he held her then.
Blindly she stared out over the wall. “I was so careful, Maddek. Drinking only what he drank. And . . . still.” So terribly her chest ached. “But I was already bleeding, so he may have only hastened the inevitable after the battle at the hollow and that long ride. Or I was never pregnant to begin. Yet I still . . . Why did I not guess what he had done? I should have been more careful, protected her from him.”
His voice was thick against her ear. “You did all that you could.”
“It was not enough.”
“And many times since I found you gone, I have said the same. I did not protect you, and because you fell into Zhalen’s hands, you suffered this. If you will blame yourself, my wife, you must blame me first.”
“I will not,” she said. Maddek had done all that he could to protect her. Nothing better could he have done.
“Blame Toric, then.”
She knew his purpose and yet still the thought could not be borne. “I will not.”
“Banek?”
Her throat knotted painfully. She shook her head.
“Then blame Aezil,” he said softly.
She nodded.
“And your father.”
She drew a deep, cleansing breath. “Yes.”
“Then that blame is where it belongs.”
“And where is yours?” she asked dryly. For she knew he still carried it on his shoulders.
His rumbling laugh said it was true. “I would add Vela. Though that is more difficult.”
“Because she saved you, too?” She had heard of what the potion had done.
“Even that is difficult. I am grateful, but also angry she did nothing for your soldiers. But that is a futile anger, because what do I know of gods? I know not what they can and cannot do. So I save my blame and anger for Aezil and Zhalen, who poisoned them and used them.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“But she also spoke truth. I did not protect you. I never truly had you. Then I lost you. And I would have died without saying that I loved you. Utterly defeated I was then, Yvenne—and so I discovered what sort of man I am.”