“Sikar doesn’t like me. Doesn’t like humans in general, I think.”
“I don’t see how that matters.”
“It probably would help to have a bodyguard who wants to protect me.”
“Sikar is a consummate soldier. He’ll do as ordered.”
“Okay, okay. Fine,” she said, her head still floating. “How long do the effects of erivitie last?”
“Should wear off by next week.”
She turned abruptly, and if she hadn’t already been reclining, she would have fallen. When her eyes were able to focus, she saw Nyphron grinning.
“We’re quite a pair, you and I. Look at us drinking to our losses and making light of the future. In a way, it’s exactly how the last of the Fhrey and the Rhune Galantians ought to behave. It’s like we’re heroes in a story that a Keeper of Ways would tell, except . . .” Persephone looked back into the flames, tears came, and somewhere in that confusing moment, she felt Nyphron’s arms surround her, holding back the dark.
Chapter Eighteen
The Great Rain
As I write this, I have no idea if the prophecies are true: Rain’s, Malcolm’s, Suri’s, everyone’s. I hope they are—if for no other reason than it makes a better story. — The Book of Brin
“Why did you say I was great?” Rain asked once they were outside the Hall of Mideon. He looked beyond bewildered and appeared pained, as if the honorific had been a cruel insult.
Beatrice had come out with them, just her. The king’s daughter had made it clear she wanted time alone with the visitors. Everyone in the hall had treated Beatrice with unquestioning reverence. Her beauty, white hair, youthful face, and diminutive stature had dressed her in the appearance of purity so perfect that Gifford wondered if it were all just an act.
Even in the world of the living, appearances can be deceiving, and in Nifrel, a dwarf can make himself into a giant.
Beatrice looked at Rain and then at the others. “When we’re alone,” she promised. She reached out as if to touch his arm, then stopped. She looked at her own hand and retrieved it awkwardly. “You’ve all had a long journey. While the others prepare, let’s get your people settled, and then you and I can talk.”
She set off across the antechamber, but the dwarf never took a step.
Beatrice turned. “Rain?”
“These are me friends,” he said. “I won’t have secrets.”
“But—”
“Wouldn’t have made it this far if not for them.”
Beatrice didn’t look happy. She stared back at him for a long moment, but Rain was like stone. Given that he’d recently bested a tornado-sized serpent, Gifford didn’t have high hopes that Beatrice would get her way.
It didn’t take the white-haired dwarf long to figure out that Rain couldn’t be budged. “Fine, but let’s get out of the hall before we talk. There are certain key elements in this discussion that we wouldn’t want others to overhear. We can go to my chambers.”
Gifford stared at Beatrice, stunned. She knows!
Rain nodded. Nothing else was said as the Belgriclungreian princess escorted them deeper into the recesses of the Bulwark.
A warren. That’s what came to Gifford’s mind as they snaked their way through corridors and down flights of stairs. The Belgriclungreians’ fondness for burrowing was well known, even to him, and apparently, it didn’t end with death. They were moving through an insanely elaborate rabbit hole, one that he imagined looked a bit like Neith, based on the tales Roan had told.
Beatrice led them to a stone wall. She tapped it with the gem of a ring, and the outline of a door appeared. She shoved, and it opened. Inside was not just one room, but many. Lower ceilings, smaller fireplaces, and plenty of rugs, pillows, and wall hangings gave the apartment a warm coziness that the rest of the castle lacked.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Beatrice told them. “Would anyone like tea? Cake, perhaps?”
She saw the confusion but had anticipated it because she quickly added, “Just because we don’t need to doesn’t stop us from enjoying eating and drinking. Nifrel is all about sensations: pain and pleasure. I would’ve thought you’d have figured that out by now.”
Beatrice walked into another room and emerged with a tray of steaming cups and a large plate of tiny cakes.
“Beautiful ceramics,” Gifford said while taking a cup. He showed it to Roan, who nodded her agreement.
He took a cake and found it moist and sweet, with just a hint of cinnamon. Beatrice continued moving through the room offering refreshment to each of them. Even Brin took a cup and a cake, a sign she was coming around, if only a little. When the princess got to Rain, he took nothing, and she set the tray down on a low table within easy reach of anyone who wanted more.
Rain’s face remained chiseled. “Will you answer my question now?” he asked.
She nodded. “But only if you answer one for me first.”
Gifford thought it was going to be about Tressa’s key, but instead, the princess said, “Why have you come?” Rain didn’t answer, and Beatrice added, “Your friends deserve the whole story, don’t you think?”
Rain glanced at Gifford and Moya, then nodded. “All me life I’ve been haunted by a dream about a woman—one I never saw, only heard. It’s the reason I became a digger. I felt . . . no . . . I knew she was buried deep under the ground. It’s why I went to Neith with Frost and Flood, and why I returned there with Persephone. I’ve been looking for her without knowing why. When I reached the Agave, I knew I’d gotten to the bottom of the world, but she wasn’t there. She was deeper still. I knew it then. The one who haunted me wasn’t trapped, she was dead—she was in the underworld.”
Rain stared hard at the princess.
Beatrice nodded. “Yes, I called to you. I needed you to come.”
“Why?” Rain asked.
Beatrice smiled, walked to the door, and tapped it again with her ring. The outline vanished, and the opening became a wall. They were sealed in, trapped with the perfect white-haired princess.
“What I’m about to tell you is for you alone, Rain.” Beatrice gave a glance at the others. “And for your close friends, apparently.”
The princess took a seat near the fire. For Brin, this was the closest thing she’d experienced to the dahl’s lodge since she was a girl. Food, a fire, and a wonderful story coming—if Tesh were sitting beside her, she would have called this paradise.
“As you’ve likely surmised, I know that one of you carries Eton’s key.”
“You don’t know which one?” Moya asked.
“No,” Beatrice replied. “I see the future—I always have—but it’s not that precise. Like stars at night, only the big ones, the brightest, are clear. The little things, the tiny details, are lost in the background, crowded out by the brilliance of the rest.”
“The stars.” Roan spoke up. “We saw them when we passed through the wall. They’re yours, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “My tiny contribution to my father’s world.”