The Cerulean Queen

by Sarah Kozloff

  “That’s so unlike her! She’d usually rather wear trousers,” said Stahlia. “Do you think it’s being on display to the Rorther prince?”

  “Something of that sort. Can you come put your foot down about the gowns? Can you convince her to take a sleeping draught tonight?”

  “Right now? I’m all covered in mud and sweat.”

  “We can stop by my suite to clean you up. Really, I think you should come.”

  Stahlia noted the anxiety in her daughter’s creased face. “Let’s go, then.”

  When they entered the Royal Bedchamber they found portions of gowns laid out on surfaces; shoes, petticoats, hair ornaments, and packaging strewn about; and Cerúlia arguing in a wrangling manner with Editha, Geesilla, Nana, and Kiltti. The little terrier was yapping at everyone, turning the room into total turmoil.

  At a glance, Stahlia realized that—if anything—Percia had underestimated the situation.

  Stahlia clapped her hands together once. “My land, Queen Cerúlia! Didn’t I teach you never to treat clothing this way! What-is-going-on-here?”

  The queen looked at her foster mother in shock for a moment and then managed a half laugh.

  “Teta, it is important that I look my best over the fest, and I’m not content with these gowns, and I can’t figure out what’s wrong, and everyone is patronizing me rather than listening, and all their advice is contradictory!”

  “Your Majesty, I can recall when you didn’t have a stitch to call your own!”

  “So can I,” said the queen. “But for better or worse, hundreds of people are going to be looking at me, many having traveled leagues and leagues to get here. And Editha keeps telling me that the changes I request are impossible or too time-consuming.” As she talked, the strain and anger crept back into her voice, and she glared at the dressmaker.

  “Oh, dear,” said Stahlia, picking up a petticoat. “Let me offer a solution. I’m hungry from all my gardening work. Could Nana fetch us tisane? After we sup, you can show Percie and me the gowns, and we’ll give you honest advice, no matter how much work it entails.

  “And if Editha needs another seamstress for alterations, I’ll lay aside the garden and pick up a needle myself. You know there’s no one faster. I promise the gowns will be ready in time and without compromise.”

  Cerúlia nodded with a look of relief and threw herself down in a chair. Stahlia escorted Nana to the door, whispering about tidbits she thought the queen might eat.

  “Come here, dogs,” she called. “Ciellō, I want them all to wait in the Reception Room. Not a one of them has any fashion sense.” Stahlia was proud of herself for making a joke. Percia smiled, but Cerúlia didn’t show that she’d heard.

  “Geesilla, my dear,” said Stahlia. “Before we think about the hair we must settle on the gowns. We’ll send for you if we need you this afternoon.”

  While they waited for the tray, Stahlia insisted that order be brought to the room. Kiltti, Percia, Editha, and Stahlia started picking up all the garments—underskirts and corsets, sleeves and doublets, and hose—that had been strewn around in a whirlwind. After a few moments, glaring at them all balefully, Cerúlia began crawling around the floor, picking up the pins that had gone flying when she had whipped a garment off her body.

  “I can do that, Your Majesty,” said Kiltti, very low. “It isn’t proper … the queen on the floor.”

  “No,” said Cerúlia. “I scattered them so, and I wouldn’t want anyone to step on one.”

  “Your Majesty,” said Editha with a low curtsey, “there are a few things I’d like to fetch from the workroom before we continue the fittings. Might I be excused?”

  Cerúlia waved her away and within a few minutes the tray arrived. Stahlia smiled broadly, hoping her cheerfulness would brighten the room. “Oh, I’m so hungry. Look at these scones and this custard! Girls, I’ll pour, sit with me and have a nibble.”

  When Cerúlia had eaten a little and began tapping her foot with impatience, Kiltti cleared away the leftovers and handed the tray to a servant in the Reception Room. Through the open door Stahlia caught a glimpse of Mistress Editha, who had fetched two baskets and a package, waiting (with a tactfulness that surprised the weaver) until a calmer atmosphere took hold.

  Stahlia invited her back into the chamber of combat. “I think we’re ready now, mistress.”

  “Finally!” said Cerúlia. “Now then. There are four major events, Teta. First, the Celebration of Citizens—the Freed and Loyal Combatants. That night we are holding a feast and the Harvest Reel. The next day is the Welcoming of the Allies, and again a feast and the Fountain Ball. So I need four gowns.”

  “Will you dance?” asked Percia, hope creeping into her voice.

  “Yes,” said Cerúlia. “I learned the steps long ago, you know, though you could give me a refresher.”

  Percia clapped her hands.

  “Fine,” said Stahlia. “Four gowns. So what are our choices?”

  Editha laid out the first dress. It was a stiff cream brocade with a full skirt made of complicated, pleated panels that were currently the height of court fashion. As Percia and Kiltti helped the queen into it, Stahlia saw the expensive workmanship and the fine fabric, but she noted, “That dress swallows you up, my dear. It does nothing for you.”

  The seamstress opened her mouth as if she were going to argue, but Stahlia shot her a warning and she desisted.

  “Thank the Waters, Teta! I feel like a mattress in it. Can it be fixed? So much money and work!”

  “I’d have to consider. But give it to Kiltti for now.”

  The second gown had a sleeker cut: it was made out of white silk with a silk-screened pattern of autumn leaves and had very long bell-shaped sleeves. Stahlia walked around Cerúlia, looking at her and the dress.

  “It’s lovely. But Editha, how about making the waistband broader?”

  “Like so?” Editha’s birdlike hands moved pins from the velvet pincushion at her waist.

  “Yes! And the sleeves are just a smidge too long.”

  “That’s easy to fix,” said Editha. “Let me show you with just the left one. Look, Your Majesty; look at it now.”

  Cerúlia smiled at her reflection in the glass, her face showing a hint of relief. “I do like the way the back flows,” she admitted (probably the first compliment she had given Editha today).

  They all helped Cerúlia change into the third, which was dark golden-colored satin with a white collar and rivers of seed pearls sewn in waves around the hem.

  “Oh, how lovely!” said Percia.

  “What do you think, Teta?” Cerúlia asked, unsure. “Is it, well, flattering enough?”

  “Oh, it’s very flattering. The color is perfect for your skin and brown eyes. Confident. But…” Stahlia had an intuition of why her daughter might not be as taken with the garment as she should be. “Editha, let’s lower the neckline a bit and make the bodice just a tad tighter at the ribs?”

  “Here, Your Majesty,” said Editha. “I fetched this silk ribbon. I thought that these russet slashes on the arms might set off the overall effect.…”

  Stahlia clapped her hands. “Now it’s not only confident and regal—it’s very fetching.”

  The last dress was blue, a river of watered silk that ranged in tones from greenish to sky blue. When Cerúlia put it on, it shimmered in the light, almost casting rainbows.

  “Oh, how lovely! Editha, you are a genius!” exclaimed Percia.

  “Wait,” said Editha. “I haven’t shown you the train yet.” And she pulled out of wrappings a train of moiré silk. She affixed the train to the gown’s shoulders and unfurled it down the queen’s back.

  “Let down your hair, Your Majesty, if you please.”

  “What?” said Cerúlia, looking at everyone’s faces. “Does it look all right?”

  “It looks,” said Percia reverently, “fantastic. Your hair shimmers with the same tones as the dress and the train. You look—like a Nargis Queen.”

  “We all fo
rget sometimes, I am a Nargis Queen. You forget (and treat me like the child I was) and sometimes I forget and act like a child. A spoilt child.”

  “We all need to do better.” Stahlia cleared her throat, which had clogged up at the queen’s apology. “Let’s take it off carefully. Don’t you dare let your dogs anywhere near it.”

  “But what are we going to do about the fourth gown?” asked Cerúlia, with a note of panic creeping back into her voice.

  “The gown that will always mean ‘Cerúlia has returned to Cascada’ is the Sunset Dress you wore at the Fountain,” Percia offered. “Editha’s first masterpiece. Can’t you wear that?”

  Editha searched through the wardrobe for the gown and looked at it appraisingly. “It was designed for spring, but the colors could also work for fall. I could add a piping of scarlet here, and maybe one of gold. Maybe a little scarlet-colored lace at the sleeves. Yes, I think—yes, reworking it into autumn could be done in the time we have.”

  “That’s settled, Your Majesty,” said Stahlia. “You will wear the Sunset Dress for the Harvest Fest. And the blue—let’s call it the Waterfall Dress—for the Fountain Ball with the visiting royalty. Which of the others for which daytime celebration? They both need robes, Editha; she will be sitting on the throne, greeting guests, and she must look both beautiful and royal.”

  “I considered that, and I brought a robe for Her Majesty,” said the seamstress, unwrapping an object and shaking it out. “Fur for autumn. And this is the most luscious mink.” Drawn by the sheen, both Kiltti and Percia crossed the room to stroke the robe.

  “But I told Editha already: I can’t wear a heavy fur robe on my shoulders all day,” said Cerúlia. “My left shoulder can’t take it.”

  “Hmm,” said Stahlia. “Both day dresses have white—the background of the leaves and the white pearls. Would a white robe be too light?”

  Editha looked off into the distance, designing in her imagination. “White velvet, with trim of white ermine. Hip length. Not floor length. That would match both day gowns and be light enough for Her Majesty to be both warm and comfortable.”

  The queen clapped her hands with pleasure and offered Editha rare praise, “Oh, that would be lovely. Could you do everything in time, mistress?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. Robes have less stitching and fitting than gowns. I also know of a craftsman who could work a fall of golden leaves down the front panels to make it more seasonal.”

  “How will you keep the robe from falling off her shoulders?” asked Percia.

  “Queens wear ‘robe clasps,’” said Stahlia. “I’ve seen them in portraits. Nana would know if in the Royal Jewels there’s a gold clasp. Something of Queen Catreena’s or Queen Cressa’s might provide just the touch of history and continuity.”

  “Kiltti, would you find Nana and bring me options?” Cerúlia asked. Kiltti and Editha curtsied and left to set about their work.

  “Now, Your Majesty,” said Stahlia. “I’m certain your gowns will be flawless. But the strain of all the arrangements appears to be wearing on you. To look your best you need to eat and sleep well. Doesn’t Vilkit have things well in hand? Couldn’t you go out for a ride to clear your head?”

  “I had asked Vilkit to go over the guests’ rooming arrangements with me this evening, but I think you’re right. I’d do better to go for a ride.”

  She walked to the door and spoke to Ciellō and a footman.

  But by the time she turned back, she was worrying again. “But Teta, what about my hair?”

  Stahlia almost rebuked her for this unbecoming vanity, which was so unlike the woman she thought she knew.

  “Look here,” said Stahlia. “I’ll come over tomorrow and sit with you and Geesilla, deciding on which hair arrangement for which dress, and on the jewelry too, if you take a sleeping draught the next few nights and come over to West Cottage for a real meal tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, Teta, I don’t have time this week. I have to write speeches and memorize names, and have so many things to check on, and I need to consult with Councilor Nishtari, and there’s only three more days—”

  “Cerúlia!” interrupted Stahlia in her most scolding tone, her resolution to address her with due deference breaking immediately. “Give everyone a rest from your anxiety and come spend a little time with your brother, who’s been working like a mule in East Garden.”

  “As has your mother,” added Percia, though her tone was more sympathetic.

  The queen closed her eyes and sighed.

  “All right,” she said. “Do you think you could fix eggs with herbs and leeks and your bread and butter?”

  “Heavens, Birdie, we can have anything you desire, but how did you come up with that menu?”

  “That was what you cooked the morning after Lemle and I got into that fight with the ruffians. I was very jittery that morning, mayhap as jittery as I’ve been these days, and I’ve always remembered that delicious fastbreak.”

  38

  “Apples!” Vilkit shouted. And the chamberlain never shouted—he was fiercely proud of always keeping his temper—but today he was shouting at his favorite provisionary. “Where are the apples? You promised the bakers Androvale apples by yestermorn, and you still don’t have them today!”

  “I told you, Vittorine apples is just as nice and bake up just as tasty. Sea deliveries are always chancy. But you insisted on bringing them across the bay. Chamberlain, t’ain’t my fault if the ship ain’t on time.”

  “Get out of my sight and go stand on the dock and watch for the ship,” said Vilkit, regaining control over his voice. The bakers would use local apples if they had to, but Vilkit had his heart set on offering the queen apple tarts made from Androvale’s crop.

  And he recognized that he was going to such lengths not because he feared she would puncture his eardrum, but because he wanted her to say, “Oh, Vilkit, how thoughtful!” as he often heard her praise others.

  Vilkit circled “apples” on the long list in front of him. He was always so on top of everything, but the press of events was making him anxious that he would forget an important task.

  A man knocked on his door. “Chamberlain, we are ready for you to approve the Harvest Archway.”

  Vilkit kept making a few notations on his list while he spoke, “And I am ready to come see your handiwork, in half a moment. There. Let us go.”

  The archway stood in the middle of the Great Ballroom. It stood about three paces wide and over three paces tall: large enough for a couple to dance through. The decorators had made it out of slats of a silvery wood and festooned it with bunches of grapes and lacquered autumn leaves. Planters built in the bottom held vines, ablaze with flowers, that climbed the lattice.

  “Very nice, very nice indeed,” said Vilkit, admiring their handiwork. “What’s that hook for, at the top?”

  “Ah,” said the decorator. “A little extra touch. What with Her Highness favoring the birds so much, we’re going to hang a birdcage—but not until the fest night. Don’t want to stress the nightingales, and don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  “A lovely idea. I won’t breathe a word. Now this is anchored sturdily enough for the first night, but you can replace it the—”

  At this moment Her Majesty and Lady Percia entered the ballroom. Vilkit and the decorator bowed.

  “Were you coming to check on the Harvest Archway, Your Majesty? You needn’t have; as you can see—all is in readiness.”

  “Oh, no, Vilkit. I’m leaving those arrangements to you,” said the queen.

  “Actually,” said Lady Percia, “we came to do a little run-through of the Harvest Reel. And I need two men for partners. I would have called in two guards, but you gentlemen will oblige us, won’t you?”

  Vilkit quaked. “Naturally,” he answered, trying not to stutter. “We would be honored.”

  Percia took the poor decorator’s right hand in hers, so Vilkit offered his to Queen Cerúlia.

  “We are all at your command, Percie,” Her Ma
jesty said, with an amused face that put Vilkit more at ease.

  Lady Percia led them through the reel. The first time, she walked them through the steps slowly, clearly, and with lots of encouragement (as if she’d been teaching dance all her life), occasionally stopping to adjust the angle of someone’s foot or arm.

  On the third occasion she stopped to adjust the queen’s left arm, the queen said, “Percie, give it up—my left arm won’t go any straighter, and this hurts my shoulder.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Lady Percia. “Very well. From now on we will use only right arm twirls.”

  She ran them through the reel at half speed. Then she took them through it at a normal tempo, clapping out the beats, though still calling out the moves.

  Vilkit had never had so much fun in his life. Had he danced as a child? He must have, but since he’d gone into service he’d only watched gentry dance, never participated himself.

  At the end of the reel he bowed low to his flushed and laughing partner.

  “Wonderful,” enthused Lady Percia. “You were all wonderful.”

  “Your Majesty,” said Vilkit slowly, “do you suppose that at the end of the evening, after the guests dance, the servants might have the pleasure?”

  “Vilkit!” said his liege. “The staff is invited to partake throughout the evening! Well, the serving boys should put down their platters, and we wouldn’t want all the cooks to desert the kitchen at once, but everyone must dance. I’m afraid that Lady Percia insists, and on matters of dancing, we are all at her command. I will leave it to you how to arrange rotations.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen, for obliging us,” smiled Lady Percia, and the two women left the room.

  “Yes. Well! Where were we?” Vilkit asked the decorator, slightly dazed.

  “You was asking about the swap-out.”

  Vilkit must have looked puzzled, because the decorator continued. “When we have to change the decor. That’ll be no problem. We will have this gone the next morning, so we can bring in the Fountain.”

  “Any birds with the Fountain?”

  “No birds. But I do have another surprise up my sleeve.”