The next trap was worse; a torrent of stones tumbling toward them, bathed in surreal daylight.
Anne called to the unicorn and they plunged together into that light, put the stones back in their own day, falling down a long-gone cliff. Again, the street lay empty before them. Her head hurt less that time. She thought the unicorn’s living mane, washing over her hands, was helping somehow.
The noise of the crowd at her back was the noise of ten thousand storms; they had seen what she had done.
She called, “Let bells be rung. The night is ending.”
A light came to their faces. All the bells in Keris began to ring.
One man, swept along with his fellows, bleated at her, “What are you doing? The queen will punish us!”
His comrades ignored him. Still they climbed.
White marble was an impractical footing for a city built in a rising spiral, but the unicorn’s cloven hooves were surer than a goat’s. Some people were singing as they went, keeping time by the cry of the bells.
The citadel and its palace crowned the rise of Keris like a greatcoronal, and finally, the gate of it loomed before them, glimmering white like the road. Within stood the guard: great men on still greater horses, in armor of scarlet leather, and pteruges like the ancient Romans. They watched, stony-faced, the approach of the shouting crowd.
Anne took a deep breath. This was a great gate, perhaps inviolable. They could storm it, but people would die.
Had the gates always been there?
She stared into the layers of light and shadow, and thought:No.Once the palace of Keris had been a welcoming place, open to the city, and the city open to the world.
So she reached for that light when it had shone on a great open archway, wrenching the past up against the present. And when she did, the gates disappeared.
She wavered at that, the pain coming back to her head. But the knights standing guard had also swayed a frightened step back. She called to the unicorn, who lowered her head and charged, while all the people cheered and poured in behind. The unicorn shot forward like a falling star, running between the great horses, who shied away from her. And then the whole city of Keris was spilling, wild, behind her into the palace courtyard, and grooms were running out, calling questions, joining with the people from the city, and they were surrounding the bewildered knights, who had drawn their swords but killed no one.
The unicorn wheeled and Anne felt that they stood together in a patch of sun, though it was deepest night, and the glow of her gown and the unicorn’s horn was reflected in the knights’ armor. One of them put aside his helm and she saw his face beneath: haggard, old, tired.
She said, “Sir, whom do you serve?”
“The king who is gone,” whispered the knight. “My mistress the queen.” His eyes were fixed with wonder on the unicorn.
“Your king is gone,” said Anne, letting her voice carry. “But I have seen him. He went into the Lost Lands in search of his beloved wife.And I found him there and he gave me this gown of pearls that was once worn by his queen. And he gave me also his ring, with the sigil of sea-drakes.” She tore the cord from her neck and held it up where the light seized it. “And with that he gave me his blessing. For I said I wished to save his city, which has long been lost in the dark. It is a thousand years since Keris was seen in daylight where once it stood, in the bay of Douarnenez.”
Answering cries, anger, affirmation, spread through the crowd. One knight dropped his sword with a clatter. “We are dead!” someone screamed. “We are ghosts.”
“You may choose your own fate!” retorted Anne. “Do you wish to live in daylight again?”
The old knight whispered, “Can you do this thing, fair wanderer? It is not within the power of any sorcery I know.”
“It is within our power together,” said Anne, pitching her voice so they could hear her. She hoped with all her heart that she was right. “And perhaps the queen will be swayed to our cause. Will you open the door of this palace for us? No feast can last forever.”
Still the knight hesitated, weary honor warring with the fear on his face. “I swore my oath to the king, and to his daughter too, when she was crowned in his place. She ordered me to keep the door.”
“Hasshekept her oaths toyou?” Anne’s voice rang out over them all.
Slowly, the old knight dismounted. He went with a heavy step to the grand doors of the castle and hesitated. The unicorn put her head round a little, and her slanted ear asked a question.
“Will you carry me in?” Anne whispered.
The ear gave an irritable twitch, but the unicorn turned her head back to the door.
The knight threw these doors back and stood aside.
Was that a glimmer of dawn in the east? Perhaps it was merely a scrap of the city’s light, reflected off the open sea.
The old knight walked beside the unicorn. He said, “The queen will want to kill you. To put the smothering-mask on you. She is dangerous, lady.”
