The Cerulean Queen

by Sarah Kozloff

  Cerúlia interrupted their discussion. “Would you all agree that Yurgn deserves to die?”

  “Oh, if you had seen what I saw in the jails!” Marcot’s voice shook, and when she looked around, the rest of her council nodded agreement.

  Wilamara again spoke up for the enlisted men. “Amongst the soldiers, though, we don’t have as much certainty about who is guilty or to what degree.”

  Cerúlia made her decision. “As Nishtari proposes, we will write to General Yurgn and the supervising officers at the army headquarters, offering them a chance to surrender. Nishtari and Alix, you will bring drafts of these letters to me for approval. As a sign of my seriousness, I would like to send a high-ranking deputation to deliver the letters, though I’d wager…”

  Alix finished her thought. “Those scoundrels might not be above arresting or killing the messengers!”

  “I will go,” said Wilamara, without hesitation. “I expect the uniform and the rank will stir a modicum of respect.”

  “And I will escort you, Seamaster,” said Naven with surprising alacrity and a little bow. “I am a duke with royal blood. I will shake out my fanciest velvets, and together we will make an imposing pair.”

  “I have been wrong about so many things, but I do not believe that Yurgn would kill me,” Marcot began, but Cerúlia shook her head at him.

  “No, Marcot. I think older envoys, with the weight of their years of loyalty to the realm, will make the best statement.

  “So,” she summed up, still standing by the window, “Wilamara and Naven will hand-deliver stern ultimatums, offering safe passage and fair trials to all who surrender. And generosity to their dependents. If they refuse this opportunity, they will have to face the consequences.”

  “But surely you don’t mean to march on South Fork, Your Majesty!” said Fornquit, removing his pipe and waving it in his hand. “That could be a bloodbath. Think of the wounded and injured, and the loss of face for a queen to war with her own troops.”

  Cerúlia returned to her seat. “We will not march on South Fork. But I cannot allow this mutinous holdout to continue. I must eliminate traitors and murderers. How I intend to accomplish this, I will not divulge at the moment.”

  Fornquit tapped his empty pipe against the table—a nervous gesture—while the other nonplussed councilors looked at one another and found nothing to say.

  Rays of sunlight struck the water feature in the middle of the room, making the small, swirling pool glint and sparkle.

  “By the Grace of the Waters,” murmured Steward Alix, and they all bowed their heads.

  After a moment Wilamara broke the silence. “Vilkit—that insufferable toady—keeps speaking of how a ruler must be feared and loved. Concentrating on the love part, it has been nearly three moons since your Dedication and we’ve held no public celebration, no festival. We have been working so hard to restore order and bring justice, but all sailors need shore leave. Could we plan a Midsummer’s Fest in honor of your safe return, Your Majesty?”

  “What a splendid idea!” said Naven. “Fests tie people together.”

  Fornquit said, “I’m a-thinking that the people were recently taxed to pay for a court wedding (no offense, my esteemed lord), and that they might not take too kindly to being taxed for another lavish gala.”

  Cerúlia nodded. “I am also concerned about expense, though I’ve been thinking along a parallel path. Has there ever been proper acknowledgment of the bravery and heroism of the Weir sailors who fought beside Queen Cressa and Lord Ambrice? Or of the loyalty of the Queen’s Shield who helped my mother escape? I don’t yearn for a feast to honor myself; I had in mind commending the loyalists and celebrating the return of those released from Matwyck’s jails.”

  “Ah,” said Alix. “Wouldn’t that be grand! Healing-like. A great morale booster. We could have one celebration for everything.”

  “Honoring our own citizens would be proper and overdue, but shouldn’t we think too about the Lorthers and Rorthers who fought as part of the Allied Fleet?” added Nishtari, mindful of her duties as international ambassador.

  “Well, if we’re going to tack on allies,” said Alix, “I’ve read reports from Jutterdam broadsheets about a group of commandos from the Free States who penetrated Oromondo and burned down Femturan and killed the Magi. Don’t we owe them acknowledgment too?”

  Cerúlia’s pulse jumped. Of all the events of her previous lives, her time with the Raiders in Oromondo was the only chapter she had never disclosed. But she yearned to have the power and means to celebrate their heroism!

  Wilamara’s eyes got a faraway look, thinking back more than a dozen years earlier. “Magistrar Destra was key to the fight against the Pellish!”

  “She’s no longer in the Green Isles,” Nishtari informed Wilamara. “The Isles envoy told me that she’s returned to the Free States and a merchant, Olet of Pilagos, has been elected to her place.”

  “I totally agree with the advisability of the type of festival you propose,” said Fornquit, “but, again, where will the money come from? We can’t spend money we don’t have. Well, we could, but that way lies trouble.”

  “I know where the money lies,” said Duke Naven. “In General Yurgn’s treasure chests.”

  Alix laughed. “We’ve talked ourselves around in a circle. I always heard of meetings doing that, but never witnessed it before!”

  “Nor are we in a circle now, Lord Steward,” said Cerúlia, “for I have a plan to deal with Yurgn.”

  She continued, “Duke Naven and Master Fornquit, see if you can get a clear answer out of our calculators about the state of our finances after this recent spate of forfeitures and fines. Lord Marcot and Seamaster Wilamara, I’d like you to have a chat with the chamberlain about the food and lodgings and with Lady Percia about the dancing and entertainment, so we would have an estimate of how much such festivities would cost the realm. And draw up a tentative list of the honorees and invitees. Midsummer, I believe, would be too soon—let’s look at Harvest Fest.

  “Now, what else did you have on your agenda, Steward?” she asked.

  They talked for another hour about administrative issues. Fornquit wanted permission to take a census so that the tax rolls could be carefully restructured. Alix was also working on a series of laws and proclamations to provide the common folk redress against ill-treatment by employers. Naven was eager to get work crews started on various building projects, both because the projects badly needed doing and because the unemployed needed productive work to keep them out of mischief. Marcot wanted to talk about the condition of Cascada’s under schools; Cerúlia suggested that the Sorrowers be conscripted as masters until proper teachers could be located or hired. Nishtari reported on a series of meetings she had had with envoys from other lands and stressed that the Lorthers were eager to reestablish relations.

  Cerúlia was pleased to note that the councilors worked as a team, supporting one another’s priorities with fresh perspective and sound advice.

  “Councilors, all, it has been a pleasure. I thank you for your frank guidance,” said Cerúlia as she rose and ended her first official council meeting.

  * * *

  Ciellō stood on guard outside the door of the Circle Council.

  “I would have a word with you,” said Cerúlia in a low voice. “Follow me.”

  Once they were alone in her closet, Cerúlia said, “We are sending letters to General Yurgn and other military leaders, inviting them to come forward to face justice.”

  “I think, damselle, that these people, they will not agree.”

  The Weeping Swan, the water feature in this room, dropped one tear of water into a bowl. Plink!

  Cerúlia walked over and stared at the brass sculpture: a swan’s neck and head curved above a quivering bowl that sat in a nook in the wall. “Do you see this little fountain, Ciellō? The water droplet grows and grows so slowly until it gets so heavy it drops in the pool. Every day it suggests something different to me: ‘time is passing’
or ‘patience is everything.’ Yesterday, staring at it, I saw how just one drop makes the bottom pool wash over the sides. One drop.”

  She watched it for a moment, waiting. Plink!

  She turned back to her bodyguard. “Remember when we went riding and you spoke about how you regret killing people?”

  “Of course,” answered Ciellō.

  “I am considering assassinating General Yurgn. I think only one person needs to die for the pool to overflow.”

  Ciellō nodded without any other reaction.

  “How do I know this is wise, as opposed to one of those mistakes that darken one’s soul?”

  “Motives matter, damselle,” said Ciellō quietly. “Some people I killed for pride. Or to show off my skill.” Plink!

  “Ah. Displaying my anger at his defiance would just be prideful. Showing that my Talent is fearsome and my daring high would constitute another kind of pride.

  “These motives influence my decision, I cannot deny, but the crux of the matter is this: Yurgn is responsible for hundreds of murders and imprisonments. His guilt is second only to Matwyck’s. He needs to be brought to justice. I can’t say to the men and women in my jails, ‘You will be held accountable because you were close at hand, whereas the man who gave the orders I will spare because he is barricaded in his fortress.’”

  She paused, waiting for the sound of the droplet striking. Plink! “Nor can I say to the palace soldiers, ‘Come die so that I can yank Yurgn out of his manse.’ I will not sacrifice one more life for the likes of Yurgn or even Matwyck.

  “I will offer a safe surrender and a fair trial. But if that offer is refused, I must bring justice without more innocent bloodshed.”

  “How can I aid you, damselle?”

  “I will use my Talent. I take full responsibility. In fact, I want these acts to be traced back to me.” Plink!

  “First, I need a quantity of an appropriate poison. Then sharp hooks for the claws of the gray owls that nest in the foothills behind the palace.”

  Ciellō smiled a thin smile. “How fortunate that the evenings are warm and men often take the air.” He rubbed his hands. “I am not a chemist, but I can obtain an appropriate potion. The hooks—ah! the metal needs be soft”—Plink!—“so to shape exactly to the claws, no?”

  “Yes, that would help.” She walked back to stare at the water feature.

  “What is the timetable, damselle?”

  “If the letters are written today, and the messengers leave tomorrow…” Plink! “Three nights from now.”

  “And the owls will know the right target how?”

  “I’ve already planned for this. I have sent hawks to the South Fork manse to scout and carry instructions. They have conferred with both the flock of crows and with a screech owl who know the lord of the manor by sight.”

  Ciellō grinned his shark smile and rubbed his hands together again.

  “You are pleased, excited?” she asked. Plink!

  “Yes. A man like me does not kill so many people and survive if he is unskilled. And there is always a joy in using one’s skill.”

  “But will killing again, or in this way, stir your regrets?”

  “Not this man.”

  “Nor for me. I killed my first foe when I was a child of twelve and never looked back. I wonder if my name should actually be ‘the Ruthless.’ Animals, you know, kill to survive without compunction.

  “I will make certain that the ultimatums convey a very clear warning: turn yourselves in or face death.”

  “That will salve your honor. But the general, an old man, is used to military weapons,” Ciellō said. “He will not believe the threat. He will think: a pretty young damselle, beloved of dogs and geese.”

  “I fear so, Ciellō. But later in my rule, my enemies will believe me.” She stuck her finger under the swan’s beak to interrupt the droplet’s fall. Then she solemnly licked the water on her skin.

  My mother never fought back against her councilors. They neither loved nor respected her. She never used her Talent against her internal enemies. She found her courage against the Pellish, but by then it was too late.

  * * *

  That evening, the queen walked around Pearl Pond and then strolled in the garden; her shields and the dogs left her alone with her ruminations. Her thoughts mostly circled around how the slanting light of a clear summer evening made every leaf look charmed, and how few of such evenings any person could count on enjoying.

  At dawn the next morning, Cerúlia saw Wilamara, Naven, and their honor guard, commanded by Captain Yanath, on their way. A long day’s ride would take them to the headquarters of the Catamount Cavalry, to General Yurgn’s manse, and then to the Ice Pikemen’s base.

  After delivering her ultimatums her ambassadors had instructions to return to the High Road crossing in the middle of the destinations, set up camp, and wait for further instructions from the palace.

  22

  Sutterdam

  As money started flowing into Sutterdam Pottery, Hake decided he could spend a little on himself. He had a new wheeled chair constructed out of lighter materials, with bigger wheels that helped him get around more easily. Also, he relocated the pottery’s former business office downstairs and had ramps constructed so that he could wheel himself everywhere around the factory floor and yard.

  Free Staters clamored for quantities of jugs, pitchers, plates, cups, and all manner of vessels. The pottery hummed every day of the week, which pleased Hake, because whenever he took a rest, he felt forlorn. He became acutely conscious that he was crippled for life, with only his ruined father and his overworked aunt for company, and though Norling and he tried their best to put on cheerful faces, every day brought a reminder of what they had lost.

  Hake was checking off a supply list when one of the workers knocked on his office door.

  “A lady wants to see ya,” said the man.

  Thinking it was someone with a commission or an applicant seeking work, Hake absently replied, “All right. Show her in.”

  When he looked up, Pallia, his sweetheart before the war, was standing before him in a faded and worn dress decorated with a new pink ribbon.

  “Pallia, you’re alive!” said Hake, stupid with surprise.

  “So are you,” she said.

  “Are you—are you all right?” asked Hake.

  “We’ve all been through rough times,” she said, looking away.

  “Your people?” he asked.

  “I lost my father and my brother in the Rout. My mother is doing rather well, considering. She and my father fought all the time; though it’s a sorry thing to say, ofttimes I think she’s happier with him gone. And my little sister escaped any real harm—though she’s been running wild and I’m having a time reining her in and making her go back to school.”

  “Where are you living?” asked Hake.

  “With a great-uncle far on the other side of town. Hard by Pot Menders Bridge.”

  Pot Menders Bridge, Hake knew, lay in one of the poorest sections of Sutterdam.

  Pallia continued, “I heard about your family, Hake. I’m real sorry about … everything.”

  “Thank you.” Hake cleared his throat. “Well. On the plus side, now we have a national hero in the family. Thalen shone like a meteor.” He gestured around himself at the business that he had thrown all his energy into. “And the pottery’s still here. Obviously. Actually, we’re as busy as we were before the war.”

  Pallia smiled and returned to the subject of the Raiders. “From what I heard, Thalen had help, invaluable help, from his clever older brother.”

  Hake hadn’t the slightest idea what to say to that compliment, although it pleased him mightily.

  “Um—do you need anything? Maybe candleholders? How is your candle shop?” Hake didn’t want to reveal that he knew that the candle shop had burned down.

  “No candleholders,” said Pallia. “But I do need something.” She chewed her lip and twisted her apron.

  “Go on, tell m
e,” said Hake. “Pallia, I’m overjoyed to see you. You know I’d do anything for you if I can.”

  Pallia scrunched her eyes closed. She almost whispered. “That’s the problem: I don’t know if you can.”

  Hake waited, bewildered and anxious.

  Pallia kept her eyes closed as she continued. “I heard the pottery had reopened, so I thought I’d take this chance. What I need is: I need a husband and … children. Could you give me children, Hake?” She rushed the next sentences. “I couldn’t be happy without them, don’t you see? Of course I’m not assuming that you’d even still like me anymore. Or you might have found a beautiful woman in the Isles. Can you forgive me for coming, for asking? But otherwise it wouldn’t be fair to you or me.… And before I tried to care for anyone else, I thought I should know.…” She ran out of courage and stood silent, twisting her apron.

  Various emotions warred in Hake. Horrific embarrassment. Amazement at Pallia’s bravery. And joy.

  The pause grew even more awkward. Hake cleared his throat again. “Pallia, I can’t walk. I can’t stand. But I am physically capable of begetting children.”

  “Do you—do you want children?” she asked. “With me? After … everything?”

  If he could walk, Hake would have rushed to her and swept her into his arms. The moment called for such action; her courage and her embarrassment stung his heart, and she looked unsteady on her feet. He grabbed his useless thighs in each hand.

  “Actually, I hadn’t ever thought about children. For all this time, in the Green Isles and back in Sutterdam, I have thought of you, not any other woman. I want you, no matter what ‘everything’ might be. And if you want children, then I want to have them with you.”

  She opened her eyes and walked a few steps closer to him. “I no longer own the shop. I come to you empty-handed. And I’m not young and pretty or carefree like I once was,” she said.

  “Neither am I,” Hake answered.

  A wisp of a smile. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said. “Your blue eyes still shine, and your arms look so strong. I can imagine that they’d feel comforting around a body.”