They moved through corridors and cloisters and passages...
The great egg-shaped room seemed hot and airless after the balcony. The doors closed silently on the curious faces outside. Shadow stopped beside his chair; Jarkadon followed the king to the far end.
"Bad news, Father?"
Aurolron did not reply until he was seated. "I think it must be, because of the odious smirk on your face. Remove it."
Jarkadon flushed in silence and did not presume to sit until invited to do so. He was left standing.
The king read his letter again and then laid it face-down on the desk. Then he stared at it in oaken silence, and nothing seemed to happen for a long time.
At last the doors opened and Queen Mayala stood in the entrance. Shadow rose. She looked at his face, and for once she did not smile.
She wore a high-necked gown of dark green which merely emphasized the pallor of her face. The dull-dyed hair was coiled on top of her head and surmounted by a tiara of emeralds, her hands concealed in a white muff. Muffs had suddenly become fashionable because the queen had taken to using them--probably, Shadow thought, to conceal the constant tremor of her hands.
He saw at once that it was one of her bad days.
Then she swept past his chair and the door closed again, but the antechamber was filling up with ladies who had come with the queen and men who had sensed the tremors in the web and heard the tap of drums.
The king rose and held out a chair for her. He remained standing on one side, Jarkadon on the other.
"Vindax?" she said.
"It is bad news, my dear."
"He has not reached Ninar Foan yet, though?"
"Yes," the king said. "He arrived on the thirty-third--sooner than we had expected. There has been an accident."
The queen made a dry sobbing noise and said nothing. Shadow was trying to watch Jarkadon also, but he was too distant to see the young man's expression clearly.
"He went hunting. Apparently his bird had taken a bat."
"Oh, my God!"
"They have not found him yet. The letter was written the same day, so the search had just started. There is still hope."
"Hope?" she said. "In that country? Up that high? Those hills?" She doubled over and buried her face in her muff.
Silence.
Aurolron put a hand on her shoulder. "We must have faith, my dear. It is bad, but there is still hope."
The queen straightened up and leaned away from him, dislodging his hand. She looked at Jarkadon. "Why are you smiling?" she asked quietly.
He was startled. "Mother...of course I am not smiling. It is terrible news."
The queen lurched to her feet, facing the king, and suddenly screamed."You did it!"
Shadow rose also; he could have heard that without the trick acoustics, and screaming near the monarch was his business. He hurried over toward the desk.
"Mayala! Control yourself!" her husband snapped.
"You planned this. Taken a bat! How often does that happen? You expect me to believe that it was an accident?"
"Mother..." Jarkadon said.
She ignored him, glaring at the king. He reached for her shoulders, and she backed away.
Shadow slipped into position behind the king, and they did not even see him.
Now Mayala's face was suffused, her eyes wild and rolling. "You did it! You put one of your foul assassins in his party. You have murdered my son!"
"Our son!" the king said angrily. "Don't be absurd?"
"You have killed Vindax!" she insisted. "You want to put thatperverton the throne?" Jarkadon turned almost as red as she.
Aurolron was startled also at her vehemence, but he paused to glance at the prince. "That is another decision entirely," he said. Jarkadon went just as suddenly ash-white.
"Monster!"Queen Mayala hissed. She pulled a knife from her muff and struck at the king. He yelped and jumped sideways, tangling with a chair and half-caught by Shadow. Jarkadon grabbed the queen, who was screaming wordlessly.
Then the king's knees buckled, and Shadow lowered him to the rug. Blood was spreading hideously over his white doublet; Shadow ripped it away from the wound.
High treason!
"Get a doctor!" the prince shouted.
"No!" Aurolron snapped from the floor. "It's only a scratch."
Shadow's ripping had exposed the skin--a gash on the king's ribs was pouring blood, but it did not look deep. He wadded a corner of the cloth and pressed it against the wound.
"I think it is superficial," he agreed, "but it needs stitching."
He was King Shadow, and the king had been stabbed. What was going to happen to him now?
The queen had collapsed on her chair again and was sobbing helplessly into her hands. Jarkadon knelt down also, ignoring her.
"We should get a doctor, Father," the prince said.
"Wait!" Aurolron said. He had gone very pale from the shock. "Perhaps we can keep this quiet."
But that would be impossible. His clothes were blood-soaked; so was the carpet.
"I wonder how long she has been carrying this," Jarkadon said suddenly, holding up the knife. It was small, slim, but quite adequate. Shadow was starting to tremble. His mind was jittering around so much that he did not know what he was thinking. He was not supposed to stay close to the king in this room; he could not have possibly moved fast enough; no one ever searched the queen for weapons; they did unspeakable things to traitors.
"We must keep the queen out of this," the king muttered.
Stabbed by his own queen? He would be a public laughingstock. It would be shame, not danger or pain, which would be troubling him most. Scandal!
"Perhaps we can," Jarkadon said.
He looked across at Shadow.
The king turned his head and looked up at Shadow.
Sheer terror froze him. Three quite unimpeachable witnesses: the king, the queen, and the new crown prince. He was lost.
"Then I think you had better call a doctor," the king said quietly.
"No immediate hurry," Jarkadon said. "Let's have a look. Yes, it's not deep. Fortunate that Mother doesn't know how to use a dagger, isn't it?"
By some terrible precognition, the paralyzed Shadow knew what was about to happen--and knew that he was not going to be able to move to prevent it.
"Fortunate that she doesn't even know anatomy," Jarkadon said. "She should have put ithere."
The king's eyes rolled up, and with no sound at all he went limp, the silver hilt ornamenting his chest like some macabre heraldic symbol.
For a moment that seemed to outlast the ages, they all stared in silence: Shadow with disbelief, the queen perhaps not comprehending, Jarkadon with a thin smile of satisfaction. Then the prince leapt to his feet.
"Treason!" Jarkadon screamed. "Murder!" He went running down the room to the doors. "Guards! Murder!"
Those outside could not hear him through those doors, and in his haste he tried to push instead of pull. Then he got one open and renewed his yelling. The guards jumped forward; the other spectators back. There was confusion. The guards forced their way through, and then all jammed together in the doorway.
When the would-be rescuers finally rounded the big chair and came rushing along the room, they froze in horror at the sight of the king's lifeless body.