The Cerulean Queen

by Sarah Kozloff

  Stahlia moved forward to help her pull the gown off and to shield her from prying eyes.

  Mistress Editha, however, made no concessions to either modesty or privacy.

  “I see,” she said, squinting at the bandage from yesterday’s wound, the scars from her burns, and her shoulder injury. “We are going to need to make adjustments. Let me measure too the difference between your left and your right shoulders.…” The seamstress’s hands flew across Cerúlia with a measuring string edged in silver, but her touch felt like feather tickles. “Not to worry, not to worry—we can cheat the left shoulder so that this discrepancy never shows.”

  The new gown flew on over Cerúlia’s head.

  “Kindly step up on this footstool, so that we can pin the length. As nothing is sewn yet—every piece is just pinned—keep your arms straight out.”

  Mistress Editha stood on a chair to adjust the left shoulder personally through meticulous fussing and repinning, while her aides worked on the hem of the gown. Standing bored, like a mannequin, Cerúlia took a little pleasure in discovering that, as she had stipulated, the dress included a reinforced loop for her catamount dagger to hang accessible to her right hand.

  “Now, girls, the robe. Come on, now, step lively!”

  Out of another parcel came an open robe of the softest light gray, which flared in the back with set-in panels of the sunset color.

  “Oh, how lovely!” Stahlia cried.

  “Can I see it? Can we move in front of the looking glass?” asked Cerúlia.

  “No, we cannot take the time,” said Editha. “We have so much work to do to finish. Stand still, Your Majesty, as we unpin.… Girls, make haste to the sewing room! Now, you two, the green one.”

  A dress of sea green with white flew over Cerúlia’s head, then a robe of white with a green leaf embroidery. Quickly, this too was pinned to her figure, and just as speedily snatched away.

  With arms overflowing with fabric, more assistants scurried out. Cerúlia was left standing, chilled, in her shift. Stahlia brought her a night-robe and assisted her off the footstool.

  “Now, Your Majesty. Your hair.” Mistress Editha surveyed the way Cerúlia had pinned it this morning with a look of distaste. “I foretold that you have not had time to find a hair maid, so I have brought with me an experienced girl. She knows how a queen should look; she used to dress Queen Cressa’s hair.”

  Editha quick-stepped to the Reception Room, calling, “Geesilla, I am ready for you.”

  This Geesilla was hardly a girl, but rather a mature woman of about thirty-five summers; she entered the room and curtsied low.

  “You worked for my mother?” asked Cerúlia with eager surprise.

  “I had that honor, Your Majesty.”

  Editha cut off any further exchange of pleasantries. “Girl. I want the hair up, in a regal style. This gray cloak will cover that unfortunate burn on your neck, Your Majesty, but I should have been told about that. In the future, all your gowns will include winged side collars that fall to the collarbone in the front. You will be glad to know this won’t cause a design problem but will further emphasize the pendant.

  “Girl,” Editha spoke while turning back to Geesilla, “Hair jewels would be a nice touch, as sparkle would show off its color. And the hair needs to be ready an hour before departure. Not one tick later.”

  Editha curtsied perfunctorily. “I must be off to supervise the sewing. A second shift of seamstresses will work all night so that you have more changes ready. Now that I have your measurements, fittings will proceed with more dispatch. But you must be sure to notify me if you lose or gain any weight.” She turned to leave.

  “Mistress Editha,” Cerúlia called out. “I don’t believe I have dismissed you.”

  Editha paused, turned around, and curtsied again, this time lower.

  “I recognize, mistress,” Cerúlia proceeded, speaking slowly and clearly, “that you know your business. You have been practicing your craft for years and have reached a level of expertise. I, on the other hand, have inhabited my position for only one day. Nevertheless, you will at all times respect the throne if not the woman.”

  Mistress Editha lowered her head. “Beg pardon, Your Majesty. Please chalk my manner up to the haste with which we must work, and my desire to have Your Highness look radiant in your first public appearance.”

  “I suspect that your manner is much the same, no matter the circumstance. Tyrants sometimes rule realms and sometimes smaller fiefdoms.”

  Cerúlia let her words sink in for a few moments. “One day I will talk to your assistants as to how well they are paid and treated. I noticed that one of them had welts on her forearms; I would not like to think that my clothing provided the excuse for a beating.

  “In the meantime, you are now dismissed.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” murmured the dressmaker, and she curtsied her way out.

  Stahlia erupted in laughter. “Where did you learn to do that, Birdie? Did Queen Cressa teach you that?”

  Cerúlia gave her foster mother a wry look. “No, my mother was too mild. Actually, I was modeling my tone on you, Teta. Do you remember the time Tilim brought a frog to church and you scolded him? I was striving for exactly that tone of reprimand.” Cerúlia mimicked her foster mother: “You will at all times respect the Church of the Waters. I’d hate to think that my allowing you to visit the pond was the cause of such tomfoolery.”

  The forgotten hair maid cleared her throat.

  “Ah yes, my hair,” said Cerúlia.

  “Your Majesty, if you would care to sit in front of the looking glass, I could show you half a dozen styles, and you could choose those you prefer.”

  Cerúlia sighed with relief at Geesilla’s more deferential manner. She sat in front of the mirror while the hair maid gently twisted or puffed her hair into different configurations. Together Cerúlia, Stahlia, and the maid decided on a style for today and a dressier one for the event tomorrow, with the sides twisted into small curls and pulled up on top of her head, while the back flowed loose in larger curls.

  * * *

  The next morning passed in piecing together what they could about Matwyck’s flight and confederates, which added up to precious little.

  Afterward, Cerúlia met with the rich or aristocratic guests who had come for a wedding and ended up trapped in the middle of a restoration. She tried to allay their fears and win them over to supporting her reign, but she was uncertain how well she succeeded. Although outwardly all were polite, even unctuous, her dogs told her most were dissembling to greater or lesser degrees. The canines gave their full seal of approval only to the elderly couple from Maritima. The visitors asked for leave to return to their homes; except for Duke Favian and Duchess Gahoa, the queen bid them enjoy her hospitality for a few more days (until she’d had more chance to judge the conspiracies against her).

  After midmeal Cerúlia had to turn herself over to maids to be bathed, then sit still for hours while her hair was fixed, and then stand still while the last pieces of the gown were stitched in place with her inside.

  In the late afternoon, Tilim and Gunnit, smartly attired themselves, knocked on her door to tell her that her entourage was ready for her.

  When Tilim saw her dressed in her full regalia, his mouth fell open. “By the Waters, Wren—I mean—Your Majesty, is that you?”

  “I think so, Tilim, but I’m not sure myself.”

  The fancy gown made her hold her body rigid and her chin up. She not only looked completely different, she felt like another person.

  “This train trails—I need train bearers, and I wanted you boys.”

  “We’d be honored,” said Gunnit.

  “Good. Well, here we go!”

  Cerúlia swept out of her chambers with the boys holding up the long back of her robe. The Queen’s Shield flanked her. She discovered that she had to walk with precise, uniform steps so that the trainbearers and the shields could match her pace.

  At the palace’s front ent
rance a surprise awaited her. Hiccuth held the heads of two black horses hitched up to a large and ornate open carriage.

  Your Majesty, Your Majesty, the horses called in her mind. They would have reared if Hiccuth hadn’t been holding them so tightly and pulling down with all his considerable weight.

  Smoke! Nightmist! Oh, the Waters! You are alive and you are here!

  The horses echoed her excitement, Thou art alive and thou art here!

  Realizing that she couldn’t get horsehair or slobber on her gown, Cerúlia held herself back from running to stroke them.

  Hiccuth bowed. “I’m not sure these two have ever been hitched to a carriage afore, Your Majesty, but I don’t expect they’ll give you any trouble.”

  “Have you been looking after them all these years, Hiccuth?”

  “Indeed, Your Majesty. Your mother sent them home.”

  “Oh, there’s so much I still need to know.…”

  Ciellō, wearing a new blue-and-black manservant’s costume due to Vilkit’s magical talents, handed her into the carriage, and Editha arranged the fall of her gown and her robe for maximum effect. A coachman prepared to climb in front.

  “Thank you, but no,” ordered Cerúlia. “As proof of my Talent I will drive them with my mind. Just tie the reins off. Ciellō may stand behind me for protection.”

  The Queen’s Shield gathered around the carriage. At a sign from Captain Yanath the procession set off down the straight Arrival Avenue and through the open Arrival Gate. The six dogs trotted around the carriage in a loose formation.

  Duke Naven and Seamaster Wilamara had been allotted pride of place in a small open carriage behind the queen; then came the rest of her allies and her visitors. Scores of palace staff followed on foot, eager to be part of this historic event.

  Cerúlia was shocked to see the number of people packing the sides of the avenue as soon as they left the grounds. Men, women, and children—some watchful, some curious, and some joyous—crowded the streets. They called out at her, but she could only hear snatches.

  Horses, easy now. I know you’ve never worn those collars or pulled those traces, but they won’t hurt you. Slow and stately—it is an honor to pull the queen’s carriage. Pick up your feet in a prancing step and match your legs together. Watch out for small children on the sides of the street. No matter how people move about, don’t startle.

  People smell of fear. A few of anger, Cici reported.

  Cerúlia half turned to speak over her shoulder to Ciellō.

  “Not everyone is pleased to see me,” she told him.

  “I see their eyes, damselle,” he answered. “I watch.”

  An arm threw a small item at her, and automatically she cringed. But it was merely a bouquet of white lilies of the valley.

  Soon enough they reached the Courtyard of the Star. Guards had to make the crowds part to make room for the carriages. Cerúlia instructed the horses to drive right up to the Nargis Fountain, which she would use as her backdrop. The Queen’s Shield herded the crowd back to make a semicircle of free space in front of her. Cerúlia dismounted from the carriage, finding that a speaking stand had been hastily erected and covered with a carpet; it stood three paces high, well over the height of the tallest man. Ciellō mounted the platform and then reached down to assist her. After she stepped up, Ciellō stepped down; she felt the boys adjust the drape of her robe behind her. The six dogs roamed the crowd, sniffing for anyone with hatred in his heart.

  With the Fountain murmuring behind her, Cerúlia stood on high alone. More than two thousand of her citizens looked up at her.

  What do they see? Do they see me, or the blue hair and accoutrements of a queen? Can they see both? Have they been waiting for me, or dreading my return? How can I rule a country? My sole experience of leadership lies in taking charge of the Sweetmeadow refugees.

  Ripples moved through the crowd as groups of citizens lowered into bows. Here and there some people stood defiantly with their knees locked straight, but none dared stand thus within range of the guards. Cerúlia picked out a sullen man in a yellow weskit standing upright with his arms crossed as an example of a person she needed to win over. She wondered if the woman who had sold her apple fritters was in the press.

  Cerúlia waited a few more moments as people in the back bowed; she had to finish sending her instructions to a flock of wild white geese.

  “Please rise,” she called out in her loudest voice. “It is my honor to finally be among you.” Here she dipped into a half curtsey. “I am Cerúlia the Gryphling, and after many years of exile, battle, and travel, I have returned to take up the Nargis Throne!”

  On these words hundreds of wild geese flew over the Courtyard, straight to the Fountain. Then they broke up into five separate flocks and shot out up the five avenues of the Star.

  The crowd shouted and applauded at this display of her Talent.

  When the noise quieted, Cerúlia spoke slowly and loudly, with pauses between phrases so that her words could be repeated to those far back in the crowd.

  “Fellow citizens! In the years since a queen has occupied the Nargis Throne, many things have gone awry. Powerful councilors have colluded with our enemies, gentry have enriched themselves to the detriment of the people, and innocent folk have been rounded up for the ‘crime’ of hoping for the queen’s return.

  “I will not pursue a vendetta, nor will I rush to judgment. But with the help of judiciaries, we must uncover the facts and bring guilty parties to justice. There is no lasting peace nor reconciliation without acknowledgment of crimes and atonement.”

  Here, to Cerúlia’s shock, an old woman near the front of the crowd interrupted her.

  “My Jeren was thrown in one of Yurgn’s jails. Oh, please, Your High Majesty,” she cried, “can’t you release him?”

  “Indeed,” nodded Cerúlia. “One of my top priorities will be to examine the rolls of the prisons and uncover secret jails.”

  “And will you give us back land that was stolen from us?” shouted a man.

  Cerúlia knew that she had to maintain control over this event. This was not the time for individual pleas.

  “If you have a missing loved one or any other grievance, you may bring a written petition to the palace gates. But you will need to be patient. It will take time for my administration to take control and function well.”

  She returned to her memorized script. “I have made a beginning by appointing Duke Naven of Androvale and Seamaster Wilamara as my councilors.” (A group of sailors standing to her right applauded loudly.)

  “Which brings me to this: I am going to need your help. Together we must untangle a conspiracy that many in Cascada found profitable, so profitable that even now my life may be in danger. I need not only your petitions, but also your protection; not only your loyalty, but also information about those whose loyalty we must probe. For instance, Lord Matwyck himself has disappeared, and many of his Marauders have faded from sight.

  “Only with your help will justice flow down like a river through a parched landscape.”

  Cerúlia noticed that the people standing next to the man in the yellow weskit were now giving him sidelong glances. He softened his belligerent posture.

  “And once the immediate danger has passed, I need your help in improving Weirandale. During my exile I lived in a small Weir farming village. I saw how too many of our citizens suffer in a famine, and I know well the inadequacy of a poor rural school. We must work together to stockpile food for bad years, alleviate hardship, and spread the realm’s riches more equitably.

  “Finally, we need to rededicate ourselves to a proper appreciation of the gift we have been given. Nargis blesses us with sweet Water. We forget how precious this gift truly is. We must never waste this bounty, never pollute it, and never take it for granted. From its generosity we quench our thirst and water our crops. Should the Spirit ever withdraw this gift, our lives would be wretched and short. Nargis Water is the Water of Life.

  “’Twas the Talent
Nargis gave my mother that allowed her to hide me in safety in Androvale. ’Twas the Talent Nargis gave me that allowed me to survive the perils I have faced. The realm rests upon Nargis Water and Nargis’s favor.”

  Cerúlia called down, “Does anyone have a cup?” Sewel produced a golden goblet that looked vaguely familiar and filled it from the Fountain with Nargis Water. He handed it to Tilim, who climbed the platform and offered it to the queen on bended knee.

  She drank half of the Water, savoring it after her nervousness and public speaking. Then she dipped her fingers in the cup, and as water dripped off each finger she recited the five traditional prayers for Home, Health, Safety, Comradeship, and the Future of the Realm. As she did, more and more of the crowd chanted the words aloud with her. By the time she got to Safety, the whole crowd (including the man in the yellow weskit) had joined in; by Comradeship, people started linking arms with friends and strangers standing near them. By the prayer for the Future of the Realm, the entire ocean of people prayed in unison.

  When the prayer ended, she ordered the flock of geese to fly back from the five points of the star and unite again over the Fountain, which the birds circled in a widening gyre as the crowd tossed their hats and cheered.

  A woman in the crowd started shouting something that Cerúlia couldn’t make out. Gradually other voices joined in, swelling the sound, so that as the chant continued it became more audible. By the time the citizens got to the second quatrain, the queen recognized that they were reciting “The Dusty Throne.”

  Someday the drought shall be broken,

  And the wondrous Waters course clean,

  One dawn the words shall be spoken,

  As the long-lost heir becomes queen.

  Cerúlia looked for and found Ciellō’s hand waiting to assist her down. Once resettled on the carriage seat, she invited Whaki and Cici up to keep her company, and she commanded the Queen’s Shield and her horses to proceed.

  On the route back, the people lining the streets bowed low as her carriage passed by. The sun sank behind a bank of evening clouds.