THE HIGH KING’S TOMB

Karigan roused from an uneasy doze at the sound of voices.

“That is Durnesian carpeting made by the hands of the Fifth House of Conover,” someone whined. “Over two hundred years old. How am I supposed to get the bloodstains out?”

Light glared between Karigan’s cracked eyelids. She buffered her eyes with her hand.

“Ah, there you are,” said a familiar voice. Brienne. “Not dead yet.”

“Are you sure?” Karigan’s voice came out as a croak.

“Pretty sure,” Brienne said.

Soon Karigan’s eyes adjusted to the light of the lamp Brienne bore. The Weapon, and Agemon, peered at her over the rim of the sarcophagus. It was really like being in an oversized bathtub.

“You are bleeding on the queen’s tomb,” Agemon said, his voice aggrieved.

“Queen? What queen?”

“The one-who-will-be,” he replied.

Brienne reached down to help her rise from the tomb. Suddenly there were other helping hands—Cera and Lennir and Fastion—and together they practically lifted her out of the sarcophagus. She carried the book out with her.

“You are bleeding,” Brienne said, looking at Karigan’s forearm. She directed Agemon to find some linen, which he did nearby, but not without some grumbling about having more blood to clean up.

“Looks like you’ll need stitches,” Fastion said as Brienne snugly wrapped the wound.

Karigan sighed.

“Cera,” Brienne said, “see if you can find one of the death surgeons.”

“Death surgeon?” Karigan asked in alarm. “What for?”

“To stitch you up. They’re good at it.”

When Brienne finished binding the wound, Karigan sank to the floor, her back against the sarcophagus she’d hidden in. Maybe it was all a dream. Death surgeons!

Brienne squatted in front of her. “You did well. Agemon and Iris told us everything. Rather unconventional, but it worked.”

“Where were you?” Karigan demanded.

“There were other intruders,” Fastion said, “guarding the entrances. They’d knocked out the Weapons on duty with a sleeping draught infused in their evening tea. The enemy’s resistance delayed us. We did intercept the one chasing you. All the intruders are dead or captured, and those alive will be interrogated and go for judgment before the king.”

“Good.” Karigan closed her eyes and leaned her head back against Queen Whoever’s sarcophagus. It was nice and cold. Maybe they should have left her inside so she could sleep. A blanket and pillow would make it comfortable. Seemed like she’d already done a considerable amount of napping if all her confused dreams of ghosts and Salvistar were any indication. Not surprising what she dreamed about when one took into account her resting place.

Resting place? She frowned.

“I see you found the book,” Fastion said.

Karigan snapped her eyes open. The book! It sat on the floor beside her. She placed it on her lap and flipped through the pages, which were blank. Except for one page.

Karigan eagerly scanned the pretentious script: One cup of sugar, one cup of blueberries…

Blueberry muffins? A recipe for blueberry muffins? Who would copy a recipe into a book of magic? If this were really the right book…

She struggled to stand and was able to do so with some assistance from Brienne and Lennir. “We need to find the high king’s tomb,” she said. “We can read it only in the light of the high king’s tomb.”

The Weapons gazed at one another, then at her. “Which one?” Brienne asked.

“Not Jonaeus,” Karigan said. “They tried him already. And probably not Smidhe.”

Agemon sniffed loudly.

“You have something to say?” Brienne demanded.

“The answer is easy,” he replied.

“That so?”

He raised his chin, looking supremely wise and dignified among such errant children. “There is only one high king.”

The Weapons again exchanged glances. “King Zachary?” Lennir ventured.

Agemon rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. Of course, King Zachary. That is, unless something has changed up above that no one has told me about.”

Silence.

Then Karigan burst out, “But he’s not dead!” Paused, then in a small voice asked, “Is he?”

“No,” Brienne said.

Agemon looked down his nose and through his specs at Karigan. “The riddle stated the book could only be read in the light of the high king’s tomb. Correct?”

Karigan nodded.

“Does it say anything about the king having to be dead?”

Karigan shook her head and Agemon stepped aside, revealing a sarcophagus behind him. On the marble lid was carved a likeness of King Zachary, looking as though he were no more than asleep, a scepter clasped between his hands. A marble Hillander terrier lay across his feet. Karigan almost fell, felt like the ground shifted beneath her. Lennir grabbed her by the elbow and steadied her.

“But he’s not dead,” Karigan whispered.

“Preparations for the passing of the royal ones begin well before the great event,” Agemon said. “Yes, yes, we would not wish to be caught unprepared. Alas, we haven’t a lid carved yet for the queen-who-will-be.”

“The queen…” Karigan glanced at the empty sarcophagus behind her. She had hidden in Estora’s final resting place. This was truly bizarre.

“The book,” Fastion urged. “Let’s see if Agemon is right.”

The caretaker sniffed again and muttered, “Of course I’m right. Yes, of course I am.”

Karigan stepped up to King Zachary’s sarcophagus, indeed she had to step up on a raised platform of stone, and she gazed down on his likeness. The sculptor had captured his image truly—much better than the wax figure of him in the Sacor City War Museum. He lay at ease, noble and serene, and she wondered if the sculptor had created the likeness while King Zachary slept.

She ran her fingers down his arm, and she wanted to touch the smoothness of his cheekbone, the texture of his beard.

“Ahem.” Fastion.

Karigan stiffened and hastily snatched her hand away, feeling a heat in her cheeks that wasn’t just her fever. Instead she placed the book on the king’s chest and opened it to somewhere in the middle.

At first, nothing happened.