‘King and Queen,’ Thalia said. It made her breathless.
Marith said, ‘We’ll go to Malth Elelane. Marry there. Be properly crowned. You’ll stand in the chapel of Amrath my ancestor where I will place the crown of Eltheia on your head. I told you we’d be there by Sunreturn! We’ll have a great banquet, with sledging and skating and bonfires on the ice.’
‘You did tell me.’
The boy’s grin. ‘I knew it would happen, you see? It’s too beautiful for us not to be there by then. We’ll have pavilions built, gold and silver. Three days of feasting. Horse races, dances in the snow.’ He caught her up in his arms. ‘Come riding with me now! Let’s look over everything. Our kingdom. The hills, the marshes, the trees. The air stinks here. We’ll ride away into the wind until it’s clean. There’s still so much I need to show you. So much in the world that’s mine.’
‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘You must be tired. I don’t want to ride anywhere. I want to sleep.’
I should be killing a man, she thought then. Somewhere far to the west Demerele will be killing a man.
It always comes back to death and dying. Always. Everything. In Sorlost a man is dying in the dark so that the dead may die and the living may live.
Death is terrible, she thought. Terrible and to be feared.
But he’s so beautiful, she thought.
Marith smiled at her grave face. ‘But all you did was sit and watch it! And it’s still only just evening … Come a little way? Please?’ His eyes glittered with life. ‘Please?’ Then he paused, looked at her. ‘I’m sorry. You’re cold and tired. And I’ll probably collapse from exhaustion in a moment. Battle joy wears off worse than drink, and I’ll realize I hurt and my head aches.’ Looked around at the ruins of Malth Salene, and a realization seemed to come to him. ‘And we’ll need to find somewhere to sleep, I suppose …’ He laughed. ‘All those beautiful things, that beautiful place. All gone.’
A horse was brought up, a warhorse, roan-coloured, harnessed and plumed in silver, snorting and tossing its head. It lashed out, tried to bite at the man leading it. Its flanks were cut and bloodied. Burn marks on its strange thin legs.
‘Father’s horse,’ said Marith. He came towards it, stroked its nose. The horse snorted, stamped its feet, then calmed at his touch. ‘There, that’s it,’ Marith said, stroking its nose. ‘Good horse. Good horse.’
So are we going … somewhere now? Thalia thought. The men still danced around the ruins, shrieking as they danced. The evening was coming in now and they looked like monsters, bronze and silver and all stained with smoke and blood. The drums and the clash of swords and shields grew louder and louder. The fires rose. They were starting to burn the dead. They would soon begin again to kill each other, she thought. Kill and kill and kill! They leapt the fires, singing the paean. Their feet drummed out war chants on the ruined ground.
‘Amrath! Amrath! Amrath!’
A voice shouted, ‘Trained and trained for it! And that was a battle! What all battles should be! I trained!’ The sound caught her, a young voice, raw, madly on edge. She turned towards it, saw a young man’s face. ‘A battle!’ he shouted again. His face strained with disgust. Another man, older, clapped a hand to the boy’s shoulder. ‘It’s all right, lad. You know that.’ She thought, confusedly, that she saw Tobias with them. Behind them. Helping the older man lead the younger man away. It can’t be Tobias, she thought. The three all shouted together, ‘King Marith! Hail King Marith!’ She wasn’t sure, it did look like Tobias. But …
If it is him, she thought, this is a good punishment for him. Fighting and dying in Marith’s army. It did look so much like Tobias. But the face was so shining with happiness. Lit up like a candle with love for the king.
‘Thalia!’ Marith was waiting for her. He led the horse to the very centre of the ruins. The blackened, melted ground where the Great Hall of Malth Salene had been. Where they had crowned him king. Marith drew his sword. Killed the horse. Blood spurted out all over him. Covering the human blood. The soldiers went down on their knees before him shouting ‘Victory!’. She was sure she saw Tobias, kneeling between the older man and the boy.
Marith hacked off the horse’s head. Raised it aloft.
‘Victory!’ Marith shouted. The evening sky rang with it. Shadows in the sky shrieked and danced.
He turned to Thalia. His eyes were silver with tears. Grief and joy together to break his heart.
‘It’s done, then,’ he said.
Chapter Sixty-One
We ride down to Toreth together. The soldiers march behind us, still singing and clashing their swords. At the gates of the town we stop. The gates are closed. Marith frowns. Then a great cry, a cheer, ‘The King! The King! Amrath returned to us! Open for the King!’ The gates swing open, the townspeople flood out, shouting, singing, holding out their hands in greeting, filled with happiness.
‘King Marith! King Marith! Hail to the King!’
The wealthy men of the town argue among themselves for who should have the privilege of giving up their home to us. Marith chooses a fine tall house near the harbour, windows looking out over the sea. Inside, more people bustle and shout and fall over themselves crying out ‘King Marith! The King! The King!’. Hot baths hastily prepared, sweet with lavender and dried mint. Hot food. Wine. Clean clothes dragged from some rich merchant’s wardrobe, a grey silk gown for me, even a necklace, gold flowers set with pale green stones. Everywhere people kneeling, eyes cast downwards, calling me ‘My Lady’, ‘My Queen’. More cheering. More singing. Dancing. Happiness. ‘The King! The King!’ It seemed to last forever. This moment burning in my heart. Marith drinks it in, stares with eyes wide as the sea. His triumph. Truly, now, he is King.
Until at last even he is exhausted, admitting he wants to sleep a while. The candles burning low. The first scent of dawn in the air. He aches, he says. His head hurting. Battle joy wearing off. The last dregs of it. Wants to go to bed.
So finally I am alone with him. The bedroom door is closed and guarded, shutters bolted against the world. Yellow candles burning. The room blazing with light. Red cloth hanging around the bed.
‘Here we are, then,’ he says. Smiles a sad smile. Things crawl behind his eyes, in the darkness beyond the dark. Things that beat like wings, clamouring to get out. Maggots and scars and the sound of a knife. I cannot tell, now, looking at him, whether he is happy or so grief-stricken his heart will break. He sits down on the bed, stares at his hands. ‘It’s done,’ he says.
A crown of silver. A throne of gold.
A sound of weeping. A scent of blood in the air.
King Ruin. King of Dust. King of Shadows. Amrath returned.
It’s done.