“Why can’t she?” Herne grinned, hell’s advocate. “She’s got the best disguise anybody could ask for — Arienrhod’s face. She can do anything, and nobody’ll question it.”
“What about the real Queen?” Tor said.
“She’ll be entertaining the high lords of the Hedge, if you time it right. And I’ve got the thing that’ll make you perfect in the part.”
“What is it?” Moon moved forward, bright with hope. Gundhalinu looked knives over her shoulder.
But Herne’s gaze never left her; it moved slowly down her body and rose again to her face. Tor felt the static charge building between opposite poles inside him. “Spend an hour alone with me, Arienrhod, and it’s yours.”
Moon paled into an alabaster statue. Gundhalinu’s freckles turned scarlet with outrage.
“What are you going to do, Starbuck?” Tor jabbed vindictively. “Teach her how to play cards?”
Herne’s head swung toward her. When she saw what had happened to his face, she came closer to pitying him than she had ever come. “For gods’ sakes, Herne — don’t be a crud, for once in your life! Do something to prove you’ve got a right to be alive.”
Herne’s upper body quivered with pent emotion; but she saw it drain away, and he looked back at Moon again. “In there.” He pointed at the storage cupboard. “Open it.”
Moon went to the cupboard and pulled open the door. Tor saw clothes, and drugs, and half-empty bottles, and one shelf that was entirely empty except for a small black object.
“That’s it. Bring it here.”
Moon took it to him, handed it over, keeping her distance. He held it in the palm of his hand almost as if it were alive, stroking its surfaces with uncertain fingers. He touched a colored key, and then another, and another. Three changing notes sounded, loud in the cramped room’s silence.
“What does it control?” Gundhalinu asked.
“The wind.” Herne looked up at them all with defiant pride. “In the Hall of the Winds at Arienrhod’s palace. She has the only other one of these there is now. You’ll be able to get into the heart of the palace this way without anybody suspecting anything,” watching Moon again. “I’ll teach you how to use it, and where to look for Starbuck.”
“In return for what?” Moon’s hands closed over the desire to hold the box again, but her face was set for refusal.
Herne’s mouth twisted. “No strings. It’s yours by right… and when could I ever refuse you anything you wanted? Or give you anything you wouldn’t have, no matter how hard I tried…”
Gods, he really thinks it’s the Queen. Tor shook her head.
But a trace of sympathy crept into the mock-Queen’s eyes, and she said quietly, “If there’s ever — anything else I can give you…”
Herne glanced down at his atrophying legs. “No human being can give me that.”
“Well, look, if you’re going to the palace you can’t go looking like a refugee.” Tor pointed. “Come with me, I’ll find you some royal rags, or at least something that’ll cover up those.”
“Moon, you can’t go to the palace! I forbid it.” Gundhalinu blocked her way as she turned, desperately officious.
“BZ, I have to. I have to,” undaunted.
“You’re wasting your time; you’re risking your — soul, if you go there. He’s gone rotten, let him go, forget about him!” Gundhalinu 1 held out his hands to her. “Just this once listen to me! You’re
*! ’
I obsessed by a dream, a nightmare — wake up, for gods’ sakes! Be f lie ve me, I’m not asking this out of selfishness, Moon. You’re all I
care about; your safety…”
She shook her head, looking away. “Don’t try to stop me, BZ. Bell cause you can’t.” She went past him, and he made no move to hold it her. Tor led her out of the room.
I Gundhalinu stood looking after her, sealing his coat against a sudden chill; feeling Herne’s eyes boring into his skull, with no strength to turn back and face them.
I “You know the truth about her, don’t you?” Herne’s voice pulled at him. “You know they’re the same, Arienrhod and her.”
“They’re not the same!” Gundhalinu turned back, stung by his f own guilty knowledge.
Herne smiled, believing the answer his eyes gave away. “That’s
I what I figured. She’s the Queen’s clone, it’s the only thing she could
I be’”
“Are you sure?” He asked the question compulsively, not wanting to, not even meaning to.
f Herne shrugged. “Arienrhod’s the only one who’s sure. But I’m I sure enough. It’s not her daughter — she never misses taking the water of life. And shed never let a man get that hold on her.”
“It makes you — sterile?” Gundhalinu blinked, taken by surprise.
“While you use it… maybe forever, after a hundred and fifty years. Who knows? That’s a joke, isn’t it? It makes you slow to heal, too. It’s even killed a few people.” Herne chuckled, pleased at the idea. “Makes some people go a little crazy too, “personality distortion’ or some crap like that. That’s what the whiners claim, anyhow — the have-nots. It’s the power that warps you, not the drug. How’s it feel to be a have-not, Gundhalinues/z rod?”
Gundhalinu ignored him, an image of Sparks Dawntreader in a helmet of spines suddenly blotting out his sight. He started forward. “Give me the control box, Herne. You aren’t sending Moon into that snake pit
Herne moved slightly, and there was a stunner in his hand. “Hold it, Blue. Suppose you just stand up against the wall, unless you really want what you’re asking for.”
Gundhalinu backed away again, his own forgotten stunner weighing like lead on his hip, under his coat. He leaned against the wall, coughed with grueling helplessness until his head swam. “Do you mind… if I sit?” He slid down the wall without waiting for an answer, sat on the floor.
“You ought to see a medic,” Herne said unsympathetically. “When a Tech sits on the floor he’s as good as dead.”
“I can’t.” Gundhalinu pulled open his coat again, abruptly too hot. Not until this is finished.
“You mean they’re hunting you too.” A statement, not a question. “All your old true-Blue buddies. You’re on the run with a proscribed Mother lover, you don’t have a friend in the world; you’ve thrown away your job and your position and dragged your highborn honor in the gutters. And all for love.”
Gundhalinu looked up, his face burning, opened his mouth.
“I can two and two add.” Herne grinned, dripping vitriol. “I’m a Kharemoughi.” He shook his head, leaning back on an elbow. “She’s really sticking it to you, boy… What did she promise you? Her body?”
“Nothing, mekru!”
“Nothing?” Herne leered. “You’re a bigger ass than I thought.”
“Anything that’s happened to me I’ve done to myself.” Gundhalinu sat up straighter, struggling against his fury, against the galling truth that roused it. “It was my decision; I accept the consequences of a rational act.”
Heme burst out laughing. “Sure, she can make you believe that! That’s her power. She could make you believe you can breathe vacuum. It makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it, you rational brain wipe-You want her so much nothing else matters; you could have her under your thumb, a deportee. But instead you’re helping her find another lover! Gods, that’s Arienrhod down to the ground. And they want the same man; the only one she’ll ever want enough to make her hate herself. The ultimate incest. If that isn’t enough proof they’re the same… if that isn’t the hell of it.” He sat forward, his fingers lacing in the mesh of his caged legs, his head down.
Gundhalinu felt disgust rise in his throat. “That’s what I’d expect of you — that you’d drag everything down to your own level, and smear it with filth. You’re incapable of anything better; of even understanding what it is you degrade and destroy.”