“What?”
“The arrow that Lord Golden gave me. I thought it was ugly when he gave it to me, but I took it to be polite. Then, when all the others bounced off the dragon, the gray one struck and sank. I never saw anything like that before.”
“I doubt that anyone ever has,” I replied.
“Maybe he had. He said it was an ugly bit of wood, but that it might still serve me well in time of need. He said he was a Prophet, that night. Do you think he knew the gray arrow would kill the dragon?”
I managed a smile. “Even when he was alive, I never knew when he truly knew something before it happened and when he was just cleverly reconstructing his words to make it seem that he did. In this case, however, he seems to have been right.”
“Yes. But did you see my father? Did you see what he did? He dropped that dragon in his tracks. Web says he'd never felt strength like that before, strength to repel a dragon.” He looked at me, challenging me to forbid it to him as he added, “He says that strength like that sometimes runs in Old Blood families. That perhaps I'll inherit it, if I use my magic with discipline and judgment.”
I reached to cup the boy's jaw, the earring cold against my palm. “Let's hope you do. This world needs strength such as that.”
Longwick thrust his head inside our shelter. “Prince Dutiful has need of you, Tom,” he apologized.
“I'll be right there,” I assured him, and then, to Swift, “You don't mind?”
“Go. There's nothing either of us can do here save keep watch.”
“I'll be back,” I promised, and then stepped from the tent to follow Longwick through our camp.
The Prince's tent was crowded. He, Chade, and Thick were there, with Peottre, Oerttre, Kossi, and the Narcheska. Thick's lip was thrust out and I sensed his upset. The Narcheska sat on the floor, a blanket clasped around her shoulders and her back to me. I made my courtesies to all and then waited.
The Prince spoke. “We are having a bit of a problem with the Narcheska's tattoos. She would like them removed, but they haven't yielded to Thick's Skill. Chade thought that, as you'd dealt with your own scars, perhaps you might be able to help.”
“A scar is very different from a tattoo,” I replied, “but I'm willing to try.”
The Prince leaned down to her. “Elliania? May he see them?”
She made no response. Her back was very straight as she sat there, and disapproval was plain on her mother's face. Then, slowly, without a word, Elliania dropped her head forward and allowed the blanket to slide down her back. I knelt down and lifted the light to see more plainly. And then I gritted my teeth and understood why they'd thought of me.
The gleaming beauty of the serpents and dragons was gone. The tattoos were sunken into her back, the skin drawn tight as if they'd been branded in. I suspected it was the Pale Woman's last act of vengeance. “They still cause her pain, from time to time,” the Prince said quietly.
“I'm speculating,” I admitted. “Perhaps Thick can't heal her easily because this isn't a recent injury. It's one thing to aid the body in doing what it's already attempting to do. But these are old, and her body has accepted them.”
“Your scars went away when we healed you,” the Prince pointed out.
“They aren't hers,” Thick observed sullenly. “I don't want to touch them.”
I let Thick's cryptic remark go by. “I think the Fool restored me to how he had always seen me. Unscarred.” I did not want to say more of that just then, and I think they all knew that.
Elliania's voice shook only slightly as she said, “Then burn them off, and heal the burn. I care not what it takes. I only want them gone. I will not wear her marks upon my body.”
“No!” the Prince said in horror.
“Wait. Please,” I said. “Let me try.” I lifted a hand and then remembered to ask, “May I touch you?”
She dropped her head lower and I saw every muscle in her back go tight. Then she gave a single nod. Peottre towered over us, his arms crossed on his chest. I looked up at him and met his gaze. Then I sat down on the floor behind the Narcheska and carefully laid both my hands flat to her back. By an act of will, I kept them there. The palms of my hands felt the warm back of a young girl, but my Skill felt dragons and serpents writhing beneath my fingers. “More than ink is beneath her skin,” I said, but did not know what it was that I sensed there.
Elliania spoke with an effort. “She made the inks from her own blood. So that they would always belong to her and obey her.”