We looked at them together, and then Marek stood up.“The queen’s fate is hers,” he said to me flatly, and walked away.I hit at the water in frustration, then I cupped water and washed my face, rivulets black with dirt running away over my fingers.
“How dreadful for you,” the Falcon said, popping up behind me without warning and making me come spluttering up out of my hands.“To be escorted to Kralia by the prince, acclaimed as a witch and a heroine.What misery!”
I wiped my face on my skirt.“Why do you even want me there?There are other wizards at court.They can see the queen isn’t corrupted for themselves—”
Solya was shaking his head as if he pitied me, silly village girl,who didn’t understand anything.“Do you really think it’s so trivial?The law is absolute: the corrupted must die by the flame.”
“But the king will pardon her?”I said.It came out a question.
Solya looked thoughtfully over at the queen, almost invisible now, a shadow among shadows, and didn’t answer.He glanced back at me.“Sleep well, Agnieszka,” he said.“We have a long road yet to go.”He went to join Marek by the fire.
After that, I didn’t sleep well at all, that night or any of the others.
Word raced ahead of us.When we passed through villages and towns, people stopped work to line the road and stare at us wide-eyed, but they didn’t come near, and held their children back against them.And on the last day a crowd was waiting for us, at the last crossroads before the king’s great city.
I had forgotten hours and days by then.My arms ached, my back ached, my legs ached.My head ached worst of all, some part of me tethered back to the valley, stretched out of recognizable shape and trying to make sense of myself when I was so far from anything I knew.Even the mountains, my constants, had disappeared.Of course I’d known there were parts of the country with no mountains, but I’d imagined I would still see them somewhere in the distance, like the moon.But every time I looked behind me, they were smaller and smaller, until finally they disappeared with one final gasp of rolling hills.Wide rich fields planted with grain seemed to go on forever in every direction, flat and unbroken, the whole shape of the world gone strange.There were no forests here.
We climbed one last hill, and at the summit found ourselves overlooking the vast sprawl of Kralia, the capital: yellow-walled houses with orange-brown roofs blooming like wildflowers around the banks of the wide shining Vandalus, and in the midst of them Zamek Orla, the red-brick castle of the kings, rearing up on a high outcropping of stone.It was larger than any building I could have imagined: the Dragon’s tower was smaller than the smallest tower of the castle, and there seemed to be a dozen of them jutting up to the sky.
The Falcon looked around at me, I think to see how I took the view, but it was so large and strange that I didn’t even gawk.I felt I was looking at a picture in a book, not something real, and I was so tired that I was nothing but my body: the steady dull throb in my thighs, the tremor all along my arms, the thick grime of dust muffling my skin.
A company of soldiers waited for us below at the crossroads, arrayed in ranks around a large platform that had been raised over the center.Half a dozen priests and monks stood upon it, flanking a man in the most astonishing priest’s robes I had ever seen, deep purple embroidered all over with gold.His face was long and severe, made longer by his tall, double-coned hat.
Marek pulled up, looking down at them, and I had time to catch my plodding horse up to him and the Falcon.“Well, my father’s trotted out the old prosy,” Marek said.“He’ll put the relics on her.Is this going to cause difficulties?”
“I wouldn’t imagine so,” the Falcon said.“Our dear archbishop can be a little tedious, I’ll grant you, but his stiff neck is all to the good at the moment.He’d never permit anyone to substitute in a false relic, and the real ones won’t show anything that’s not there.”
Caught in indignation at their impiety—calling the archbishopold prosy!—I missed the chance to ask for an explanation: why would anyonewantto show corruption if it wasn’t there?Marek was already spurring his horse onward.The queen’s wagon rattled down the hill behind him, and even though their faces were avid and bright with curiosity, the crowd of onlookers drew back from it like a wave washing back out from the shore, keeping well clear of the wheels.I saw many of them wearing cheap little charms against evil and crossing themselves as we passed.
The queen sat without looking to either side or fidgeting, only rocking back and forth with the wagon’s roll.Kasia had drawn close to her side, darting a look back at me that I returned, equally wide-eyed.We’d never seen so many people in our life.People werepressing in close enough around me to brush against my legs, despite my horse’s big iron-shod hooves.
When we drew up to the platform, the soldiers let us through their ranks and then circled round, leveling their pikes at us.I realized in alarm that there was a tall thick stake raised up in the middle of the platform, and beneath it a heap of straw and tinder.I reached forward and caught a corner of the Falcon’s sleeve in alarm.
“Stop looking like a frightened rabbit, sit up straight, andsmile,” he hissed at me.“The last thing we need to do right now is give them any excuse to imagine something’s wrong.”
Marek behaved as though he didn’t even see the sharp steel points not two feet from his head.He dismounted with a flourish of the cape he’d bought, a few towns back, and went to lift the queen down from the wagon.Kasia had to help her along from the other side, and then at Marek’s impatient beckoning, she climbed down after her.
I’d never known it before, but a crowd so large had a steady running noise to it like a river, a murmuring that rose and ebbed without turning into separate voices.But now a complete hush descended.Marek led the queen up the steps onto the platform, the golden yoke still on her, and drew her before the priest in the tall hat.
“My Lord Archbishop,” Marek said, his voice rolling out clear and loud.“At great peril, my companions and I have freed the queen of Polnya from the evil grasp of the Wood.I charge you now to examine her to the utmost, to prove her with all your relics and the power of your great office: be sure that she bears no sign of corruption, which might spread and infect other innocent souls.”
Of course that was exactly what the archbishop was here for, but I don’t think he liked Marek making it seem as though it was all his idea.His mouth pressed down to a thin line.“Be sure that I will, Your Highness,” he said coldly, and turned and beckoned.One ofthe monks stepped up beside him: a short, anxious-looking man in plain brown linen, with brown hair cut in a round cap around his head.His eyes were enormous and blinking behind large gold-rimmed spectacles.He held a long wooden casket in his hands.He opened it, and the archbishop reached in and lifted out with both hands a fine shining mesh of gold and silver, almost like a net.The whole crowd murmured approvingly, wind rustling in spring leaves.
The archbishop held up the net and prayed long and sonorously, and then he turned and flung the net over the queen’s head.It settled over her gently and the edges unrolled, draping to her feet.Then to my surprise the monk stepped forward and put his hands on the mesh and spoke.“Yilastus kosmet, yilastus kosmet vestuo palta,”he began, and went on from there: a spell that flowed into the lines of the net and lit them up.
The light filled the queen’s whole body from every side, illuminating her.She shone atop the platform, head up straight, blazing.It wasn’t like the light of theSummoning.That was a cold clear brilliance, hard and painful.This light felt like coming back home late in midwinter to find a lamp shining out of the window, beckoning you into the house: it was a light full of love and warmth.A sighing went around the crowd.Even the priests drew back for a moment just to look at the shining queen.
The monk kept his hand on the net, steadily pouring in magic.I kicked my horse until she grudgingly moved in closer to the Falcon’s and leaned from my saddle to whisper, “Who is he?”
“Do you mean our gentle Owl?”he said.“Father Ballo.He’s the archbishop’s delight, as you might imagine: it’s not often you can find a meek and biddable wizard.”He sounded disdainful, but the monk didn’t look so very meek to me: he looked worried and displeased.
“And that net?”I asked.
“You’ve heard of Saint Jadwiga’s veil, surely,” the Falcon said, so offhanded I gawked at him.It was the holiest relic of all Polnya.I had heard the veil was only brought out when they crowned the kings, to prove them free of any influence of evil.
The crowd was jostling the soldiers now to come nearer, and even the soldiers were fascinated, the tips of their pikes rising into the air as they let themselves be pushed up close.The priests were going over the queen inch by inch, bending down to squint at her toes, holding each arm out to inspect her fingers, staring at her hair.But we could all see her shining, full of light; there was no shadow in her.One after another the priests stood up and shook their heads to the archbishop.Even the severity in his face was softening, the wonder of the light in his face.
When they had finished their examination, Father Ballo gently lifted the veil away.The priests brought other relics, too, and now I recognized them: the plate of Saint Kasimir’s armor still pierced with a tooth from the dragon of Kralia that he had slain; the arm bone of Saint Firan in a gold-and-glass casket, blackened from fire; the golden cup Saint Jacek had saved from the chapel.Marek lifted the queen’s hands onto each, one after another, and the archbishop prayed over her.