This was a piece of Nargis Ice. The new queen held it aloft for a long moment, showing it to the hushed assembly. It flashed in the sunlight that shone through the stained glass. Gunnit saw a figurine that was part eagle, part lion, hanging from delicate threads.
Cerúlia handed the symbol to Brother Whitsury; he fastened the transparent chain about her neck. The figurine nestled in the hollow of her throat, shimmering slightly, lighting up her face.
She turned her body slowly around on the dais, facing first east, then south, then west, then north, so that all the people in the Throne Room could see her wearing her token of Nargis Ice. A majority of guards flung down their weapons. Quite a few people, including Water Bearer, began to weep.
The church bell began chiming again, now with a continuous peal, and the sound echoed slowly through the room and throughout the city.
As Cerúlia turned around once more, her eyes happened to meet Gunnit’s. His heart soared at the expressions of surprise, recognition, and happiness that swept across her face. She brought two fingers to her forehead in a jaunty salute.
But out of the corner of his vision, Gunnit, who was practiced at keeping an eye out for threats to his flock, saw an arm that extended from a shadow on the second balcony behind her nock an arrow. For the second time that morning he screamed a warning. “Watch out!”
Cerúlia startled at his shout, but the arrow was already in mid-flight. It struck the newly anointed queen, who fell down with a muted cry.
At that same instant Gunnit registered a dog barking loudly and the acrid smell of smoke.
6
Tilim thought himself fortunate that Sergeant Athelbern of the palace guard, whom the boy had frozen with a sword point poking his kidneys, turned out to be one of those guards who quickly dropped his sword and bent his knee when Cerúlia revealed her true identity. Tilim trembled with relief, because otherwise he would have had to kill the man in cold blood.
He would have done it, he could have done it (he was almost sure), but he was glad he didn’t have to.
Tilim, who had never been enchanted by Queen Cressa, and who had always thought his foster sister magical, was not as dumbfounded by Cerúlia’s revelation as his mama, whose face looked anguished as events unfolded before them. He placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder when the queen said something about Lord Matwyck being responsible for his father’s death.
When the queen dropped from sight, struck by an arrow from above, Tilim was already running toward her. He fell in with several blue-caped soldiers, but they had to push onlookers and combatants out of their way, whereas Tilim wiggled through small openings, so he got there first. The catamounts had formed a protective circle about her, and Brother Whitsury crouched at her side, holding her up against his knee. The arrow stuck out of her upper right arm, but Tilim saw little blood.
Tilim took her left hand, and she smiled at him. He thought he was going to have her to himself, but suddenly a yellow-haired boy, not quite as tall as he was but stockier, showed up on her other side. Around them, Tilim became vaguely aware that fighting had broken out once again.
Wren—no, Queen Cerúlia—addressed both boys. “Tilim and Gunnit, I didn’t want to do this, but it seems we must.
“I want you two to run and unlock the kennels. Let loose every dog you can find. And while you are at it, free the horses too. And then open every door in this blasted building so that the dogs have full access.”
Just after she said the word “dog,” a large, white-patched face thrust itself into the huddle of the three of them and licked her chin.
“Hey there, Whaki,” she greeted it.
The yellow-haired boy interrupted, his voice urgent. “There’s a fire. I smell smoke.”
“What?” The queen half tried to sit up, grimaced, closed her eyes, and grabbed her arm.
“Move out of the way,” a man’s voice ordered.
Looking up, Tilim saw a stranger in a black-and-white outfit, his hair—some locks the most outlandish color—in intricate braids.
“Foolishness,” the stranger said to the queen, “to leave me behind! Look at what has happened!”
“Sir!” said Brother Whitsury, aghast. “You address the Queen of Weirandale!”
“Queen? Ah, I see the hair blue and pretty piece of ice.” Meanwhile, his dagger had cut through her shirt where the arrow protruded, and his long fingers gently explored the area. “Truly, what I see is foolishness.”
A sword entered the tight circle of people gathered around the queen’s supine body, and its point moved straight to the stranger’s throat. Following the sword upward, Tilim saw a soldier in a blue cloak, shining breastplate, and bright helmet. The dog growled.
“Drop your dagger and back away,” the soldier ordered the stranger.
Tilim’s sister opened her eyes. “Everyone, let’s not fight one another. This is Ciellō. He’s been my bodyguard for half a year. He will do me no harm except chastisement. Who are you, Shield?”
“Your Majesty, I am Captain Yanath, I served Queen Cres—”
The stranger, this Ciellō, interrupted. “She is injured. Later we will make the introductions.” He swooped the queen into his arms with one hand under her back and another under her knees. “Lead me,” he ordered the soldier. This captain and another blue-caped guard clustered close to Cerúlia’s form and moved quickly in the direction of the East Entrance, the dog at their heels.
Tilim stood up and saw that some of the blue capes had bunched tapestries together as if they were ropes and were now climbing up these priceless artworks to get to the first-floor balcony. Fierce fighting raged there between gentry loyal to the old order and the soldiers. He wouldn’t want to be the tapestry climber if Mama got ahold of them.
He turned to the yellow-haired boy, who wore the uniform of a page boy. “Introductions later, I guess. Do you know where the kennels are?”
The two boys pushed in the direction of an exit, but in struggling through the crowd Tilim crashed into the broad belly of stableman Hiccuth.
“Come with us!” Tilim shouted. “We’re on an important mission.”
Hiccuth hustled with the boys to the kennels, where the dogs were barking and growling loudly, jumping against their pens. Though wary of setting them free, Tilim followed his orders. The dogs broke up into packs of four or five, streaking toward the building, noses to the ground.
The yellow-haired page said to Tilim, “You’ve got the dogs well underway, right? I’ve gotta go see about this fire.” And he ran off toward a wing of the palace from which smoke had started to billow.
Meanwhile, Hiccuth began to turn the horses loose into a large fenced paddock, so Tilim sprang to help. The horses milled about, nervously rolling their eyes, intermittently breaking into wild, short spurts. They made no attempt to join the fight, but neither would they be penned up, easy at hand for anyone seeking either to flee or to gather reinforcements.
The boys had thrown open a few doors on their way out; now Tilim and Hiccuth rushed back to the royal residence, opening any barriers dogs pawed or growled at. Already they could hear the results of their efforts, because the packs set themselves on the new queen’s opponents.
Brawls spread all over the central structure, into outbuildings and the grounds, as people tried to flee and the dogs chased them down, grabbing their ankles or leaping for their throats. Armed men turned to skewer the dogs with swords or daggers. Women desperately climbed on furniture while dogs lunged up at them, sometimes connecting with flesh, sometimes just rending the air with their gaping mouths. People—and dogs—died.