No. Stop it.
He ordered himself not to think about them. All he was achieving was self-torture and despair. He fought to regain his inner equilibrium. But however he struggled to calm himself, no calmness would come. His mind was aswirl. Bad enough to have given herself to the hjjk ambassador, but then to go from Kundalimon to Thu-Kimnibol — ! It was unthinkable. It was monstrous. That great lumbering vimbor. And her own kinsman, too.
Husathirn Mueri closed his eyes and tried to let thoughts of the Queen, the all-loving benevolent Queen, drive these tormenting visions of Nialli and Thu-Kimnibol from his mind. But there was no way he could pay attention to what the boy-priest was saying. Only empty noise, that was what it seemed like now. Hollow mumblings, weird magical nonsense.
Perhaps I never believed any of this, he thought. Love the Queen? What kind of madness is that, anyway?
What if I’ve been coming here only out of some sort of feeling of guilt? An expiation, perhaps, for what I did to Kundalimon?
The thought startled him. Could it be? He began to tremble.
Then Chevkija Aim leaned over and murmured, “Tikharein Tourb wants you to stay after the service.”
Husathirn Mueri blinked and looked up. “What for?”
The guard-captain offered only a shrug. “He didn’t say. But we aren’t supposed to take part in the twining when the service ends. We’re just supposed to wait.”
“She is the essence and the substance,” Tikharein Tourb called out.
“ She is the essence and the substance,” the congregation replied. Husathirn Mueri forced himself to bellow forth the response with them.
He felt a little calmer now. Chevkija Aim, breaking in on him like that, had managed to pull him back from his feverish brooding. But he fidgeted as the string of litanies went on and on. He was due at the welcoming ceremony in a little while: the whole Presidium had to be there to hail the returning heroes. Much as he loathed the idea, he didn’t dare to stay away, or it would seem he was too embittered to attend, and that would create trouble for him. But if Tikharein Tourb didn’t hurry it up—
At last, though, the service was over, ending with the usual mass twinings. The faithful, when the intensity of their communions had lifted from them, filed silently out of the hall.
Husathirn Mueri and Chevkija Aim rose and went to the altar, where Tikharein Tourb waited for them.
The boy’s eyes seemed more fiery even than usual today. His fur bristled with tension.
“It is just as I said in the service,” he told Husathirn Mueri. “This is the day of the breaking of the seals. This is the day of the Queen. And you two are to be Her instruments.”
Husathirn Mueri frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“The prince Thu-Kimnibol has brought shame upon the Queen. His life is already forfeit for the slaying of the holy Kundalimon; but now also he has intruded on the sanctity of the Nest of Nests and attempted to impose his will on Hers. For these and many other misdeeds the Queen has pronounced sentence of death on him, which you will carry out this day, Husathirn Mueri.”
His breath left him as though he had been punched.
“You will strike him to the heart when he comes forth to be acclaimed. And you, Chevkija Aim — you will strike down Taniane in the same moment.”
It was impossible to believe that this little demon was only a boy of ten or twelve.
“On the reviewing stand?” Husathirn Mueri said, astounded.
“In full view of everyone, yes. It will be the signal. The people then will rise up and slay the rest of the highborn ones before they can comprehend what is happening to them. The entire ruling caste must go, all the oppressors, all the enemies of the Queen — Staip, Chomrik Hamadel, Puit Kjai, Nialli Apuilana, all of them. In one quick moment. You alone will remain of all the Presidium, Husathirn Mueri.” Tikharein Tourb grinned savagely. “In the new order of things you will become Nest-king here. Chevkija Aim will be Nest-warden.”
“Nest-king?” Husathirn Mueri repeated dully. “I’ll become Nest-king?”
“That is how we will call the worldly ruler, yes. And his chief of staff will be the Nest-warden. And I,” said Tikharein Tourb, “will be your Nest-thinker, the voice of the Queen in the city called Dawinno.” He laughed. “In the new order of things. Which you two will serve to bring into being, this very day.”
Husathirn Mueri said, as they left the chapel, “You go on ahead. I need to change into my official robes.”
Chevkija Aim nodded. “I’ll see you on the reviewing stand, then.”
“Yes.” Reaching out, Husathirn Mueri caught Chevkija by the wrist and held him a moment. “One thing. Despite what Tikharein Tourb said just now, I want you to understand this: Nialli Apuilana is to be spared.”
“But Tikharein Tourb specifically wants—”
“I don’t give a gorynth’s toenail for what he specifically wants. The whole crew of them can be slaughtered, for all I care. I’ll be glad to wield the knife myself. But she lives. Is that understood, Chevkija Aim? If she turns out to be difficult afterward, she can always be killed then. But she’s not to be touched when the killing starts. Have your guardsmen protect her. Or, by the Five, I’ll see to it that any harm that comes to her is repaid fifty times over. Is that understood, Chevkija Aim?”
It seemed to Thu-Kimnibol that the entire population of the city had turned out to greet his homecoming warriors. They had built a huge wooden stand right in front of Emakkis Gate, big enough to hold all the members of the Presidium and many others besides. And all around it were hundreds, thousands, of citizens, a gigantic horde of them, just about everyone in Dawinno who hadn’t gone off to the war.
His hand tightened on Nialli Apuilana’s arm. “There’s Taniane up there, do you see? And Staip, and Chomrik Hamadel, and that’s Puit Kjai, I suppose, in the enormous helmet—”
“Simthala Honginda and Catiriil, too, over there on the right, with Staip. And isn’t that Husathirn Mueri? I can hardly make him out, with that guardsman blocking the view, but those bright white stripes, that black fur — it has to be him.”
“So it is. I think he’ll be wearing a long face today.”
“Where’s Boldirinthe? She’s not there, is she?”
“We’d see her if she were. But it would be a job, hauling her up on top of that platform.”
“If she’s still alive at all.”
“Do you think—”
“She was old. She was ill.”
“I pray that it’s not so,” Thu-Kimnibol said. But in his heart he suspected that Nialli Apuilana was right. This had been a season for the falling away of the great old ones.
A helmeted figure on a noble-looking gray xlendi came riding out toward them now, carrying the banner of the city. Thu-Kimnibol recognized him after a moment as the young highborn warrior Pelithhrouk, Simthala Honginda’s protйgй, who had been in his entourage during the embassy to King Salaman, what seemed like a million years ago. The memory drifted back to him now of the time Dumanka had killed and roasted the caviandis, and Pelithhrouk had spoken out so idealistically on the theme of the oneness of all intelligent creatures. To have Pelithhrouk, one of those who had argued most strongly for peace, ride out now as the official bearer of welcome was a good sign for the reconciliation that must now be brought about.
Pelithhrouk dismounted and looked up toward them.
“The chieftain sends her greetings. She bids me to escort you to the place of honor.”