CHAPTER 34: Accusations

Alanna slept soundly until Coram shook her awake that evening. She dressed in formal hose, shirt, and tunic for the Ceremony of Knighthood, where she would swear fealty to the crown and the King would dub her a knight of the realm.

Roald's hands trembled as his blade struck first her shoulders and then her head, and he announced no less shakily, "I dub thee Sir Lady Alanna, Knight of the Realm of Tortall. Serve honorably and well."

Queen Lianne's legs gave way then, and she fell into her throne with her hand to her ashen face. Duke Gareth patted her back in consolation, beaming.

Then Thom stepped forward with Coram, who carried a great bulk covered in a brown cloth. After introducing himself and earning permission from the King, Thom whipped off the cloth, revealing Alanna's shield.

Like the rest of the court, she could only stare. Instead of a black tower on a red field, Trebond's emblem, the shield flaunted a rearing gold cat.

"A lioness rampant. For the first lady knight of the century," Thom proclaimed with a sly grin.

"Three cheers for Trebond!" someone bellowed. Alanna flushed, recognizing the voice as Raoul's.

"Hip! Hip! Huzzah!" others roared back.

Alanna laughed, close to tears. They liked her! Sure, she could spot numerous conservatives who, if possible, would be drilling holes into her with their glares, but they didn't matter. Everyone had enemies. But not everyone had friends.

---

The following celebratory feast was long and loud. Her friends never left her sides, constantly clapping her on the back and roaring obnoxiously. Roger approached her too to offer his congratulations. Listening to him, Alanna realized that tonight was the night to act. First, however, she had to tell Jon. She couldn't go and accuse his cousin without forewarning him.

After the celebrations, Alanna followed the Prince back to his rooms. When the door was locked securely, he bent to kiss her, but she stopped him with a finger. "Jon, I have to go tonight. But first, I have to tell you something. And you're going to be upset—you may even hate me—but I have to tell you."

Noting her anxiety with an understanding Alanna could have worshiped just then, he nodded and stepped back again. "Go on."

She swallowed. How could she be about to do this? She took a deep breath, and then murmured, "You know the magical illness killing your mother? Well—I think the sorcerer is Roger."

Jonathan stared at her for a moment, and then laughed awkwardly. "Alanna, I think you're still tired from the Ordeal. Or perhaps something in the Ordeal scared you, but I assure you, Roger is completely trustworthy. He's more than my cousin—he's my friend. He would never do anything to hurt my mother or anyone else."

"I know it's hard to believe, Jon, but, really, you have to—"

"Alanna, hush." He stepped forward again, his arms finding their habitual position around her waist, and his lips touching her nose. "You're tired and stressed. Let's just go to bed, alright?"

---

When Alanna awoke, it was pitch black. It had to be somewhere around midnight. Jon held her close, sleeping soundly. Had she really been dubbed a knight mere hours ago?

Suddenly, she sat up, furious with herself. A knight by name, perhaps! What had she done since then besides give into gluttony and sleep with her overlord? How honorable. While she lazed around, time inched away, and the royal family grew closer to their deaths. She growled and rolled out of bed, ignoring the cold that immediately bit into her bare skin.

"Alanna?" Jon murmured, his voice muffled in his pillow.

"Go back to sleep, Jon. I just have to use the privy," she lied easily, pulling on her clothes. He grunted in reply and obeyed. Then, she slipped out of the room and darted to her own chamber, where Faithful snored peacefully on her pillow. "Wake up," she hissed. Quickly, she used some of Jarinth's old vervain to scry for Roger. A picture bloomed in the glowing light, revealing the duke down in the throne room, laughing with three other noblemen. The celebrations were still going strong, apparently. She bit her lip, and sent a short prayer to the Mother that he was perfectly occupied where was, and would stay that way for a good time longer.

What are you going to do? Faithful asked, stretching with a yawn.

"Whatever Roger has cooking up will be in his chambers. Any lengthy spell like the one killing Lianne has to have a focus for its power. That's what I'm looking for."

You're going to break into his room? he echoed skeptically. I'm not entirely sure that's legal.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we were passed legality when Jarinth was murdered. Now come on—you're standing guard."

Roger's room was at the top of a long, winding staircase, to Alanna's relief. Now no one passing through the hallway at the foot of the steps would spot her as she struggled with the lock on the door. Lockpicks proved worthless against the heavy spells protecting the entrance. Alanna bit her tongue, reaching out with her Gift to study the guards, and recognized them with a wince. Jarinth had taught her about these, but she did not have the time to deal properly with them. Instead, a strenuous blast of magic did the job for her, though left her light-headed, and then the lockpicks worked.

Roger's main room was simple and empty of anything important—obviously, since maids and visitors entered here too often to leave a murderous spell lying around. Instead, Alanna used her ember-stone to find a back door glowing orange—more protected than even the front door. Only this could be his workroom. Again, she had to shove her Gift into the lock to beat it, and the energy sucked into the work knocked her out cold.

Faithful licked her awake, and Alanna's eyes flicked open in horror. "How long have I been out?" she demanded.

Two minutes, he replied smartly.

"Damn." Anything could have happened in those two minutes. Roger could have entered, and she would be helpless against his power. She had to find his spell fast. She picked the door's lock and entered cautiously.

If she had had any doubt of the room's uses, they evaporated now. The workshop was crowded with colored scrying glasses and crystal bottles containing suspicious liquids. Books on magic, in different languages, and of an almost horrifying range of ages packed the shelves. Steadily-glowing lamps from Carthak replaced torches for light, and dishes of burning coal emanated a comfortable heat from the center of the room. In the back, water splashed from a pipe in the wall onto mossy rocks and then into a deep basin. Curious, Alanna crept towards it and gasped at a wax doll under the waterfall.

"Of course," she murmured, picking up the doll. "There had been a wax doll of Jarinth, too." She studied the doll in her hands, and almost dropped it when she realized who it resembled.

Queen Lianne, Faithful voiced needlessly.

The Queen's features were almost completely washed away, leaving only her real hair and favorite dress to betray her identity. Alanna almost cried. No wonder Her Majesty was so ill—this doll had been getting pounded by a waterfall for ages! She placed the doll gently on a nearby table, and returned to the fountain for a silvery veil that also ran in the water. It was wrapped around a bundle, with a slit in its side. Alanna remembered in awe how she had struggled so fiercely to tear a fabric during the Ordeal. Now she understood what that fabric had been.

With her dagger, she cut the string holding the veil around its bundle, and gasped at the contants. Wax dolls of King Roald, Jonathan, Duke Gareth, Lord Provost, Myles—even her and Thom! This was why they had been so oblivious to Roger's actions. And though she, Myles, and Thom had suspected the king's nephew, none of them had ever been prompted to do anything until now, when she had torn the veil from over her eyes.

Alanna, watch out! Faithful shrieked, darting under the table.

Alanna spun and gasped. Roger stood in the doorway. "I never imagined you'd be so incredibly pesky, Alanna. I thought for sure I'd have your trust after I suggested you earn your shield."

Mind reeling, Alanna meant to spit a retort, but changed her mind as a small shadow slipped out the door. She needed to buy time for Faithful to get help. "Why did you do that?"

"I had no idea you were going to survive. In fact, I doubted it. Now that you've survived, though, there's the perfect excuse for your death."

Alanna stiffened to refrain from shaking. "What's that?" Roger was the better swordsman and mage. If he tried to kill her, he would succeed.

"Plenty of nobles are furious enough with you that they'd hire an assassin to slit your throat. You'd be amazed how easy it is to make it look like that happened." He shook his head. "Sometimes things need to be sacrificed for the greater good."

"The greater good?"

"My uncle can't rule a country for the life of him—or his people. 'The Peacemaker,' they call him, you know. Foreigners are more scared of the Scanran barbarians than they are of Tortall."

"Isn't that good?"

"With fear comes respect, Alanna, and respect results in power. Tortall could be great. But, instead, our army dwindles and our lords are fat, lazy men. Most don't even know how to hold a spear anymore. Our peasants take up after their overlords and they, too, begin to dawdle. Now, our economy has suffered, while Carthak builds up a navy stronger than all of the Eastern Lands' militaries put together. I've tried to tell Roald the distress of his country, but he refuses to listen. I must take matters into my own hands for the good of the country, before Carthak attacks. Worse, Carthak might unite with other countries—the Copper Isles, the Yamani Islands, or perhaps even Tyra—and then we'd have a two-fronted war to fight. We'd be squashed, and lose more land than we gained under the Old King. Then there'd be no hope at all of getting back up on our feet. We'd have to pay reparations and have lost land we could have mined and farmed; and with that land will go a good portion of our population—a loss of workers and buyers. The great nation of Tortall will topple in a mere few years, and all because of the glorious Peacemaker."

Alanna stared at him. He wanted to bring about national power by overthrowing the king and establishing a great army? As if a grand military were inexpensive! The cheapest way to keep from losing a war would be to form alliances—to befriend their neighboring countries, not scare them! She pointed this out, and Roger laughed.

"Alanna, Alanna, Alanna. You don't understand. Some countries like war. Take Tusaine, for instance. They didn't need an excuse to attack; they did it for fun."

She clenched her teeth. "Murdering Jon and his parents is not the way to achieve Tortallan power, Roger. You won't succeed."

He smiled. "You don't think so? I beg to differ. Already I've disposed of Jarinth, and soon you'll be gone too. And Lianne is as good as dead." He shook his head, and pulled out his sword. "Well, then, Alanna, I'm afraid that's it. I—"

"Roger, what are you doing?"

Alanna and Roger both jumped and turned to the doorway, where King Roald stood, blanched and gripping his sword with a white-knuckled fist.

"Your Majesty, Duke Roger's going to kill me," Alanna squeaked.

"What are you doing in Roger's workshop, Lady Alanna?" the King replied slowly, his eyes flicking from Alanna to Roger.

"She was trying to frame me, Uncle. She was going to make it look like I had been trying to kill you. I assure you the contrary, however: I want only your safety."

Roald's eyes widened. "Trebond?"

"Your Majesty, I swear, that's not what it is! Look—here's a doll of me. I've been suspicious of Roger for years, and I know it was a terrible thing to do, but I had to find proof, so I came in here and I found this, Your Majesty! Look, it's Her Majesty, and Duke Gareth, and Jon, and Myles, and you—"

Roald took the dolls into his shaking hands, and then, recognizing them, quickly dropped them on the table and stumbled back again.

Alanna heard two more men barge into the main room. Suddenly, both Myles and Duke Gareth appeared behind Roald. Faithful darted between their feet to Alanna.

"Alanna," Myles gasped, staring at her in horror. Duke Gareth and the king both were looking at her with quite the same expression.

She bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I know breaking into his rooms was wrong, but I've suspected Roger for years, and I needed to find proof. I don't care if you punish me for trespassing; I just want to reveal His Grace Duke Roger for what he really is."

"What, a loyal vassal of the royal family?" Roger snapped, enfuriated. "You sneaked these dolls into this room to frame me! After everything I've done for you!"

"With what motive?" she demanded. "Jonathan and Myles are both my friends, Duke Gareth is my teacher, Thom is my brother, Their Majesties are my sovereigns! What reason could I possibly have to want them dead?"

"You don't need to want them dead. This is a plot against me to ruin my reputation. You're jealous of my influence. The royal family is my only family now—why would I want to kill them?"

"You just said it," Myles pointed out quietly, gazing at him. "You and the royal family are the only direct Contés. If they die, I believe you ascend the throne, do you not?"

Roger stepped back from Myles, indignant. "You're ganging up against me!" He swung around to Roald. "Uncle, this was planned ahead of time. This is not just!"

Duke Gareth and Roald both looked aghast, even frightened. They glanced at each other, and then back at Roger. They didn't say anything.

Roger's eyes flamed. "By my rights, I demand trial by combat. Lady Alanna may have the rest of the night to rest, as it will be her last night, for the gods will surely take the liar down."

"Then, at the second bell after dawn, we will meet in the first fencing gallery and prove the truth," Roald murmured hesitantly.

"Indeed," Myles replied lightly, flicking a glance at Roger. Then, he held a hand out to Alanna. "Come, Alanna. You need your sleep."

She swallowed, curtsied to the dukes and king, and obeyed, with Faithful at her heels. Myles escorted her to her room without a word. Only when they were inside did he sink into a chair and bury his face in his hands. "The gods have nothing to do with it, Alanna. Pure talent will win this duel, and, though you're good, he's two times better."

Alanna hugged him. "I love you, Myles. Thanks for helping me tonight." He squeezed her back, and she felt him shake with sobs. "I'm sorry. I had to. He was killing Jon, Roald, Lianne, Thom—he was killing you. I couldn't let him get away with that."

Myles nodded and pulled away, sniffling. "I know you couldn't. It's your duty—all that chivalry crap. But, gods, Alanna, I don't want to see you get hurt."

Alanna took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I might not. I just need to prepare adequately."

"Alanna, you have fresh wounds from the Ordeal, and you're a little smaller and a lot younger than he is." Suddenly, he paused, and then shook his head wildly. "What am I saying? I'm sorry. You can do this. You're Alanna. You've fought godly beings, bullies, and knights. Who's Roger?"

She forced a grin. "That's the spirit. Now, I need my sleep. Even after napping all day, I'm pretty dead."

"I can imagine." He stood, and hugged her again. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks, Myles."