by Callie Bates
“The treatment of magic throughout the world may change. Alfred must see the score.” I glance past him; the castellan Fairbern has emerged onto the steps and caught my eye. I nod and tuck the note into my pocket. “Ingram, Hugh, if you’ll come in, we’re assembling the ministers to begin a meeting. The men will find refreshments in the kitchens as soon as they’ve stabled the horses. I’ll join you soon.”
Hugh nods, and goes to pass the word to the men. But Ingram Knoll draws me aside before I can go in. “How is my Rhia?” he asks in an undertone, a frown deepening his brow.
My heart softens. Someday Alistar will scowl just this way over our child’s safety. “Her arm is still holding her back,” I tell him, “but her spirit’s as strong as ever, if her tongue is anything to judge by.”
“My Rhia is a sharp one!” He chuckles, but says more soberly, “Thank you for taking her back to Laon. I’d have worried about her on the border. I want to keep her in one piece. She’s meant for more things than, well…”
“Being a royal bodyguard?” I say wryly. “I agree. But I think she believes her only skills lie with a sword.”
He sighs. “At least you see there’s more to her. You’ll help bring it out of her in time, I’m certain of it.” He pats my shoulder once more.
I go in. The staff greet me, and I fall in stride with plump Annis, who’s carrying a load of linen upstairs. She refuses to let me take any of it, though her cheeks are bright pink—but perhaps that’s more from nerves than from effort.
“Congratulations on the baby!” she exclaims. “The future king or queen of Caeris.”
“No, Annis!” I stop right there in the corridor, and she does, too. She’s flushed again; the poor thing looks mortified. I hasten to explain. “I mean, thank you, of course. But I was elected, like the kings and queens of old. If my child becomes the next monarch, she or he will put forth their name and be confirmed by election, too.”
“Oh, but don’t you think it’s a given?” she says doubtfully. “If you raise your child to be the next ruler…”
My child, whom I claimed would be the future of Eren and Caeris. Yet Ruadan raised me to know my history, and now that I’m home, I’m reminded that it isn’t up to me. The Caerisians claimed their freedom so the best candidate could take the throne, and no matter what I dream of, the good of the people comes first. Besides, the child growing within me isn’t a symbol, as Teofila rightly told me. She’s simply my daughter. “The Dromahairs weren’t always the kings and queens of Caeris; they’ve tried to keep it in their family, but before they claimed it, the crown switched hands if the people found an heir wanting. Or sometimes simply if a better candidate came forward. Unless you’re the only claimant, as I was, it could become contentious. My child will be raised with a royal education, but she’ll still have to prove herself.” Annis still looks doubtful, so I try another tack. “My mother was a maid. Like you. If I can become the queen of Caeris, you, or your daughter, or your daughter’s son, can too. That is what we fought for, and it is my promise to you.”
“That’s quite a thought,” she says slowly.
I smile. “One to think about.” I step away, letting her return to her work, and step down the corridor to my door.
And I slow. Two men are standing in front of it, waiting for me. One of them steps forward as I approach, beaming. “Sophy! Welcome home.” It’s Lord Aefric, one of my Caerisian ministers, a dignified man with graying hair and a cheerful mustard-colored coat. I’ve known him since I was a girl; he used to visit Ruadan at Cerid Aven. “We came to congratulate you!”
I touch my stomach. “It’s wonderful everyone has been so excited—”
“Well, it is marvelous news.” Lord Aefric clasps both my hands in his. “The king coming to Caeris!”
I jerk back as if I’ve been slapped. “The king?”
The other man, Lord Gavin, a minister I know less well, is watching me intently. He’s younger than Aefric, and the sound of him is less bright. Indeed, if there’s warmth in Aefric’s sound, the sound and shape of Gavin are brown and blunt. “The king from across the sea, of course. The one we fought for.”
“Your father,” Lord Aefric says, lifting an eyebrow, “Euan Dromahair, coming to claim his throne at last.”
“I—” I bite the inside of my cheek. No one else has mentioned this yet. The palace staff got their news from me, though—and the only other person I’ve talked to is Ingram Knoll, who shares my sentiments. Carefully, I say, “Where did you hear this? I didn’t think the news had reached the north yet.”
Lord Aefric and Lord Gavin both look surprised—genuinely so, to judge by the change in sound frequency from both of them. “It’s been all over Barrody,” Lord Gavin says. “Did you not send us the letter yourself?”
“The letter,” I echo.
“Yes, telling us the good news.”
Rambaud. This has to be his doing. He’s so damned clever that he forged a letter from me, knowing the effect Euan’s impending arrival would have on the Caerisians. Of course, they haven’t yet gotten word that Rambaud and his followers seized Laon through a bloody trick—and if Rambaud had had his way, I’m sure that news would never have found its way north. I should have anticipated Rambaud would do something like this; this is why he allied with Euan, so he would have the largely unconditional support of Caeris. So he could undermine me among my own people.
Now it will be my word against the legend that Ruadan built. The promise of Euan’s return, so potent our people rose up in revolt. The irony tastes sour in my mouth.
I withdraw my hands from Lord Aefric’s. “How interesting that you received this news; I can assure you it did not come from me. I only discovered that my father is coming to Eren yesterday.”
Now Lord Aefric looks surprised, and Lord Gavin’s eyes narrow slightly. Their sounds diverge—Aefric’s high and uncertain, Gavin’s low and taut.
“I discovered it,” I say with an edge to my voice, “after Aristide Rambaud seized Laon in a coup and killed the Butcher of Novarre.”
Lord Aefric has gone utterly silent; white shock pulses from him. “All the gods.”
“We’re here not to celebrate, but to mount a defensive.” I look between the two of them. “My father seems to have allied with Rambaud. I don’t yet know what it means for our future, but I came back to Caeris so that the Caerisians would have someone they know and trust in Barrody Castle, should they choose to keep me.”
There’s a silence around us; I can feel the castle staff, including Annis, watching us.
Lord Gavin bows. “We’ll meet you in the council chamber, then.”
He turns to go, but Lord Aefric doesn’t. He says, “I have long wondered if Euan Dromahair is a trustworthy ally and future monarch.” The words pour out, humming with truth, as if he’s been holding on to them for years. Maybe he has. “I wondered at Ruadan supporting him, when the man never set a foot in Caeris, and then again when instead of coming himself, he sent that sorry lad of his to die for him, Finn. Then we won, and still he did not return. Now”—his voice rises, incredulous—“he returns by invitation of one of our enemies? When his daughter is queen? His allies write a letter to trick us, thinking we Caerisians are such a stupid, credulous people we believe a forged note, a false legend, over the woman we elected queen?” He shakes his head. “I don’t like it, Sophy. I don’t like it at all.”
I’m staring. “Well,” I manage, “he is the king from across the sea. I thought the Caerisians would want to give him a chance…”
“A chance across a heavily guarded border,” Lord Aefric says darkly, “with a few hundred cannons at our backs.” He nods. “That is the recommendation I’ll make before the council.”
With that, he sweeps away after Lord Gavin, who has been watching us from down the hall. Our eyes meet, and Lord Gavin nods. The sound of him has grown markedly quieter. “We kno
w who the true ruler of Caeris should be,” he says, with a ring of truth.
“Damned right we do!” Lord Aefric agrees.
I retreat into my sitting room, shaken. But I’m smiling, at the same time, in a kind of wonder. Lord Aefric believed me. He took my side over Rambaud, without even requiring proof. It was as if I’d said what he was longing to hear. Of course there may still be people in Caeris who will say Euan is the true king—that we should let him prove himself. But here is Lord Gavin, looking at me with approval. Maybe even the deep-dyed supporters of Euan will begin to change their minds, once they see what his followers have done.
Unless, of course, Rambaud has done more than send a false letter in my name. The man certainly seems more than capable of outmaneuvering me. I suppose time will tell.
I slip through into the bedchamber. Alistar stirs under the bedcovers. “Come back,” he mumbles, holding out his arms.
I lean over him and drop a kiss on his forehead, then dodge away when he tries to pull me closer. “Council time!”
“I should never have fallen in love with a queen,” he groans.
I just smirk as I pull a simple blue gown and soft stays from the clothes press. A metallic gleam catches my eye. It rests on top of the nearby vanity, old and tarnished: my mother’s locket. I pick it up, turning it around in my hands. The clasp is stiff, but the small lock of hair still lies within, bound with a black ribbon.
Perhaps I’ll need it, though I’m not sure what for. Euan Dromahair doesn’t seem keen to have proof I’m his daughter. But I open the clasp all the same, and reach up to fasten it around my neck.
A moment later, Alistar’s hands have closed over mine. “Let me do that,” he murmurs in my ear.
He fastens the necklace, but lingers there, kissing the back of my neck. I lean into it for a long moment, then force myself to break away. I tap his bare chest. “You are going to make me late. I suppose you could come with me, although…” I raise an eyebrow, surveying him. “It would be a shame to put clothes over all that.”
He grins. “So I’m to be your boyish favorite, am I? Handsome, but not too bright?”
“Actually, I choose my paramours based on their talent for tactical thinking.” I tug my gown over my shoulders and give him a mock-challenging look. “As well as for their rugged good looks, of course. Hurry up!”
He moves to gather his shirt and trousers, but pauses at my dressing gown. “What’s this?”
He’s picked up the bone flute. Even from here, I feel its eerie hum like a current in my own body.
“I don’t know exactly,” I say. “I had a—a kind of waking dream, of Queen Aline. She took me to it.”
“It’s a gift from the ancestors, then.” He hands it to me. “You should keep it with you.”
I tuck it into the pocket of my gown, and the current deepens, almost like a song whose melody I can’t quite catch. I need to play it, to experiment with the music as Demetra suggested. First, however, I have an opposition to organize.
* * *
—
RHIA’S WAITING FOR us in the corridor. Her eyes are bruised from lack of sleep, and she looks perfectly cross. “Can’t the damned meeting wait?” she demands.
“Good afternoon to you, too,” I say, my arm wrapped through Alistar’s. “You don’t have to come. Go back to bed.”
“Well, I’m here now.” She looks at us both balefully. “Fairbern woke me up out of a nice dream, too.”
“Don’t blame me,” I protest. “I didn’t send him.”
“Maybe he has a grudge against me. That would explain it.”
“Perhaps you should challenge him to a duel,” Alistar says with great solemnity. “Though how would you resolve it? Fisticuffs? With your broken arm…”
“Poetry,” I say, just as seriously. “I hear that’s how they’re doing duels in Ida now. Epic poetry. No one dies, except of boredom.”
“I rather like epic poetry,” Alistar says.
Rhia glowers. “Neither of you takes me seriously.”
Her mood improves, however, once we reach the council chamber, where the smell of coffee wafts up the hall. Rhia bolts ahead to claim a cup, while Alistar and I follow at a more sedate pace. Unlike my council chamber in Laon, this room is all ancient oak paneling, scarred by centuries of use, the walls hung with banners depicting the great clans and cities of Caeris.
The room already bursts with vigorous debate—all the ministers, and more people still, crowd the oblong table. One minister is arguing heatedly in favor of sending a delegation to Laon to meet with Euan; Ingram Knoll asks whom he thinks is likely to volunteer, since most people prefer to keep their heads on their bodies. Oonagh Connell, Alistar’s older sister, is arguing in favor of shutting the border down entirely. “The Ereni were never part of our original rebellion, and when we split our kingdom into two capitals, it weakened us.”
“But Eren and Caeris used to be one,” Lord Aefric protests.
“In a time best recounted in legends,” Oonagh retorts.
I take up a chair, and Ingram Knoll and Hugh both pound their fists on the table. Eventually, there is silence, of a sort. “The people of Eren supported our rebellion,” I say to the table at large. “It’s their rulers—not only the royal family, but the wealthy nobles—who did not. They are the ones using our rebellion to claim power for themselves. There’s still a chance the Ereni people may want us again”—under a differently structured government, I reflect with a wince—“but for now, we must take care of our own.”
“Is it true that the Caveadear is coming back?” Oonagh asks.
“Word travels fast,” I say with a smile. “I spoke to her this morning, and Jahan Korakides, too.” I look down the table, at their dear Caerisian faces, and I smile. “They won. They claimed Aexione—and from what Count Hilarion told us, Leontius has claimed the throne.”
A cheer runs up and down the table.
“Unfortunately,” I add, “we suspect that Leontius’s siblings are accompanying my father here, to Eren. They tried to seize power in Paladis, and now that they’ve been kicked out, they seem to be seeking a new base here.”
“What do a Paladisan prince and princess want with us?” Lord Aefric asks doubtfully.
“I don’t know for certain,” I say. “Sanctuary, perhaps? I gather Leontius would have stripped them of their power if they had remained in Ida. We’ll need to be wary of them. I don’t know how much influence they have over Euan.”
Teofila leans forward. She looks well rested, and her eyes have brightened since I mentioned Elanna’s return. “They must be quite desperate to come to Eren. In Paladis, our country is seen as little more than a backwater. They would never come here if they had another choice.” She looks around at us. “Perhaps there’s a way to make them all more desperate—not only Euan and the Saranon siblings, but Rambaud and his followers as well.”
I nod. “I think our minds are moving on the same lines.” I tug Count Hilarion’s symbol-ridden note from my pocket and smooth it on the table. “It appears that once Emperor Alakaseus died, and Leontius came to power, King Alfred of Tinan began to question his alliance with Rambaud. It seems Leontius is a friend to magic, as well as to Jahan Korakides, and Alfred is aware of the shifting dynamic.”
Hugh nods. “Alfred’s a pragmatic man. Even though he and Rambaud are friends, he won’t directly oppose the emperor of Paladis.”
“Which means,” I say, “that he may be open to negotiations…even from those he once considered enemies. Particularly if they are allied with the new emperor.”
Ingram Knoll looks thoughtful. “It may help. I’ll send a letter to Hilarion at once.”
“Excellent. Tell him I’d prefer to meet with King Alfred myself, if possible,” I say, “somewhere on the border, in neutral territory.”
Oonagh drums her fingers. “Of course, the
re’s Baedon as well.”
“I imagine the queen of Baedon will fold more easily than King Alfred,” I say. “She doesn’t have his army, or his personal connection to Rambaud. As far as I can tell, she mostly opposed us because the emperor of Paladis declared war. Now…”
“I knew Queen Sylvestra when I was a girl,” Teofila says unexpectedly. She pauses, then admits, “In fact, I taught her how to play the pianoforte. She wanted to learn from a girl her own age. We had great fun. I’m sure she would remember me.”
I blink. “Would you go? To Baedon?”
“It’s a long journey,” Teofila says, “but not so long as some. If I leave now, from Threve, I can take a Caerisian ship and get there by sea in a matter of days. I know Sylvestra will admit me to the palace, if nothing else.” She winks. “I can tell her Alfred is allying with us, too, even if it isn’t strictly true.”
The others laugh and agree that it’s a wise idea. But my chest is swelling. I look at Teofila, still too thin after the long winter. She’s the closest thing I have to a mother. The journey by sea to Baedon isn’t arduous in itself, but what if Rambaud has the foresight to already control the Ereni fleet? What if he has her stopped? What if Queen Sylvestra doesn’t listen?
What if I lose her, too?
Teofila turns to me, and she must see some of what I’m thinking because she reaches across the table and grasps my fingers. “This is something I can do, Sophy. Let me help you.”
I close my eyes, but I say the words, because I have to. I must honor Teofila’s willingness to do this, and the simple fact that she will be our most effective ambassador. “Then of course you should be the one to go.”
She smiles. “I think I have a way for us to keep in touch, as well,” she whispers.
“Will it be enough?” Lord Aefric is saying. “Allying with everyone around Eren—pinching Rambaud and Euan Dromahair the way they pinched us. If they have no allies, nor trade…”
“Perhaps they’ll cooperate,” Hugh finishes.
“Yet we still don’t know their plans,” Alistar points out. “Or what forces they may be bringing from Paladis, though it can’t be many if they had to flee so abruptly. Manning the watchtowers must be our first priority.”
