Vilkit coughed. “Your Majesty, this is a very busy day for you. Mayhap you would prefer that I discreetly return the note and inform the prince that you are too occupied right now for such correspondence.”
“Ah, Vilkit. That would be perfect. Buy me time, while keeping all options open.
“Oh, and Vilkit, speaking of notes…” Cerúlia kept her voice casual. “Please give this to Councilor Nishtari to deliver personally to the Free Staters arriving tonight. ’Tis nothing, just a few words of welcome.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” said Vilkit, placing the note in his pocket and giving it a small pat.
A kitchen maid came rushing up to Vilkit babbling about apples, and he rushed away, greatly excited.
* * *
Vilkit dashed to the pantry to discover bushels and bushels of apples—the long-awaited shipment had finally arrived from Androvale.
“Borta,” he called to the head baker, “they came!”
“I got eyes,” said Borta. “Now how we gonna get all of these peeled by tonight?”
“I’ll assign you extra hands,” he placated her.
Vilkit was so excited that, in an unprecedented lapse, he forgot all about the note to the Free Staters.
The undelivered, unread note in Vilkit’s best black waistcoat read:
Commander Thalen—
It gives me great joy to learn that you have safely docked in Cascada.
I have spent my life hiding from enemies of the Nargis Throne. When I was young I used the name “Wren.” When I fled Weirandale, I adopted the name “Kestrel.” When I traveled in Alpetar, I used the name “Finch.” When I joined the Raiders, I took the name “Skylark.” When I survived the Magi’s fireball and recovered in Salubriton, I renamed myself “Phénix,” after the bird who rises again from the ashes.
When I claimed the Nargis Throne some moons ago, I also reclaimed my true name.
And it gives me the greatest of pleasures to welcome you and the brave Raiders to the realm of Weirandale as
Cerúlia the Gryphling, Queen of Weirandale
41
Soon enough, the afternoon ceremony began.
The program started with a clarion of trumpets from the upper balcony.
The palace caller announced, “Citizens of Weir, stand in respect for the kin of Queen Cressa’s Shield!”
The families of her mother’s Shield no longer wore mourning veils because their losses had occurred so long ago. They walked in proudly, if a little awed.
Cerúlia stood. “To serve in the Queen’s Shield is a unique responsibility and an unparalleled distinction in Weirandale from the beginning of the monarchy. Should the whole world turn against the queen, her Shield is pledged to protect her to the last. Though all members of such Shields have served valiantly, rarely has a corps been put to this severe test. But in the Days of Treachery, my mother’s Shield protected her from would-be assassins in this very palace and stayed by her side until the calamity off the Pellish coast.
“That most of them perished is a tragedy. Almost as distressing is that, up until today, these bravest and most loyal of Weirs have not received the acclaim they deserved. It is thus my deep privilege to convey my gratitude—indeed the gratitude of the realm—to the families of those who followed Queen Cressa even unto the Eternal Waters.”
Captain Yanath gave the queen his arm, and she walked slowly down from the dais while Tilim rushed forward to hold up her trailing gown. Yanath introduced her to the kinfolk representing the fallen Shields. For each she had a special word—either a memory from her own childhood, or a detail Yanath, Pontole, or Branwise had relayed to her. Thus, for instance, she informed Bristle’s brother that without his bravery at the gate, Queen Cressa would never have escaped and she spoke to Seena’s sister of her own memory of the day Seena protected her as they rode on horseback in the hills beyond the palace. She told ClemÇon’s sister how much her mother relied upon her captain.
And to each family she presented a medal, a replica of Queen Cressa’s Nargis Ice Hexagon, made of white gold. Each medal was engraved with the shield’s name and the word “Unwavering.”
When she finished and returned to the throne, the trumpets played a fanfare, while the onlookers cheered lustily. Yanath escorted the kin of Cressa’s Shield to reserved benches.
Next, a mighty tramp of marching feet penetrated from outside the East Entrance. The palace caller announced, “Lord Consort Ambrice commanded a navy brave and true. May I present to all herein the survivors of the battles against the Pellish and the kinfolk of the fallen.”
The middle-aged sailors, in their dress uniforms, had obviously practiced their entrance. They put the relatives in the middle of their formation, with sailors linking arms and escorting them on both sides. This phalanx marched into the Throne Room in perfect lockstep. The last rows of mariners held aloft the faded Weir flag from the Sea Sprite, the ship on which Queen Cressa had fled Cascada.
The sight was so stirring that the crowd immediately rose on its feet, shouting and cheering. Cerúlia noted that both Yanath and Wilamara, who had served with these men and women, let their tears stream down their cheeks.
This part of the ceremony was Seamaster Wilamara’s show. She called out the names of all the sailors and presented them or their kinfolk with a medal for combat service. Since hundreds of sailors had served, this took hours, but the reactions of the honorees were so varied that the onlookers could not get bored. Sailors shook hands with the seamaster; others knelt to the queen; some boisterously showed off their medal to friends in the crowd; and many family members started sobbing.
After all the names had been called, a quartet of seamasters marched forward. They folded the Sea Sprite’s flag with formal and reverent precision and handed it off to Wilamara. The seamaster approached Cerúlia and knelt on one knee.
She called out in a ringing voice, “Your Majesty, you too are the closest kin of a fallen sailor, our noble and much-missed Lord Ambrice. Sea Sprite was his first command, and a ship he dearly loved. Will you accept the flag of this vessel as a token of our undying respect for our Lord of the Ships?”
Cerúlia had not been informed that this gesture would be part of the ceremony. The portrait in the Gallery of the Queens and Consorts had brought back long-lost memories of her father. She reached out for the flag and hugged it to her chest.
Does it really smell of sea spray and windy sunshine, or do I just imagine this?
“Huzzah! Huzzah!” shouted all the mariners, many throwing their caps in the air. Then, accompanied by the trumpets in the balcony, they launched into a rowdy rendition of “Where’s My Weir Sailor-Boy?”
Cerúlia rose and walked slowly toward the East Entrance, pausing to greet the sailors who made way for her to proceed through their midst. Tilim and Ciellō followed her, matching their pace to hers.
When the sailors reached the last line of their chantey, with all of them shouting, “Back in the bed of his favorite gal!” the trumpets modulated to a minor key. They played the somber “Lamentation for the Lost.” Cerúlia timed her walk’s progress so that she exited on the last, haunting notes of the lone flute. The lament broke her heart.
Cerúlia strode up the staircase with unseemly haste, almost running. Sensing her distress, her dogs came streaming to her side from varied directions. When she reached her bedchamber, she fought through the lump in her throat to tell Ciellō, “No one. No one may disturb me.”
The loneliness of the single flute still echoed in her mind. She threw herself on the bed and wept. She wept for all the losses she’d learned about today; she wept for Clemçon, Bristle, and Seena; she wept for her father and her mother. She wept for the orphaned children, and she wept for herself: the once and always orphaned child who had lost her parents and Wilim and so many dogs and so many friends.
The door opened and closed quickly. Cerúlia looked around, prepared to be furious with Ciellō for allowing anyone to see her in such a state, but it was Percie—the perfe
ct, only person to have near her in her righteous sorrow.
Percie rushed to the bed, shooed the dogs away, and took Cerúlia in her arms, rocking her back and forth.
“Hush now, hush now. We’ve all been crying, and few of us have as much reason as you do. But come, come, that’s enough.”
“So much loss, Percie. My own and the nation’s. How can I bear it?”
“You bear it because you can’t change it. You bear it because it heals everyone else’s sorrow to see you standing tall. And me and Mama and everyone—we will help you as much as we can.”
“But I need Thalen too!” Cerúlia said through her sobs. “I want to jump on Smoke and ride to the wharf; I want to see the rest of the Raiders. Percie, I don’t even know who survived the last battle with the woros!”
“I know, dear heart, but you can’t. All eyes are on you, now especially. How would it look for the queen to gallop off on a secret rendezvous? And wouldn’t you be humiliating the Rorthers? One more day, Birdie, one day more.”
In a few moments Cerúlia regained control of herself. She washed her face and put cool cloths on her puffy eyes. Percia helped her out of her gown.
“Lie down a spell, Birdie,” said Percie. “There’s still time yet before you have to dress for the dinner.”
“Whaki!” As she lay down, Cerúlia patted the bed next to herself. “Come lie next to me. Percie, will you keep people from bothering me?”
“Ciellō and I will guard the Reception Room door like dragons.”
“Good.” She sighed, then lifted her head off the pillow, puzzled. “Percie, how did you happen to come? I didn’t call you, did I? My Talent has never before stretched to people.…”
“No, silly. ’Twas no Magic. Ciellō sent for me,” she said as she crossed to the door. “He always knows what you need.”
* * *
At dinnertime, dressed in the Sunset Gown, with her hair plaited up like a crown, Cerúlia entered the Great Ballroom, where the guests from the day’s festivities stood assembled, waiting for her. Nightingales hanging from the Harvest Arch threw themselves into song at her entrance.
Vilkit led her to a seat in between King Kentros and Filio Kemeron, knowing that for her to sit anywhere else tonight would have been seen as a deliberate snub.
Brother Whitsury spoke a benediction to Nargis, pointing out that the fruits of the harvest were due to the sweet Water that had nourished the crops.
Her seatmates had been deeply impressed by the day’s events, which spoke to their good hearts. Cerúlia initially had a little difficulty drawing the prince out until she asked him to tell her about Rortherrod. He warmed to this topic, discoursing on the quarries where they cut marble and limestone and their buildings crafted by expert masons. Apparently his castle boasted statues so lifelike that visitors mistook them for people. Horses in Rortherrod had to be from bigger stock, a third again larger than the ones he’d seen in Cascada, in order to pull wagons full of stone.
After a while the queen stopped actually absorbing his descriptions and just watched his face.
He is so animated talking about his home; he loves it with a fierce pride. His hands flex when talking about stonework as if he himself holds a chisel. His eyes are kind.
For the second course, Cerúlia offered her regrets to the Rorthers and moved to sit with the kin of Queen Cressa’s Shield. Members of her current shield, including Yanath, Pontole, and Branwise, sat at that table too.
Branwise told a story about how drunk Bristle got when he was elevated to sergeant—so drunk that he couldn’t ride and the other shields had to carry him home. Captain Clemçon’s sister had brought with her a packet of letters and trinkets that her brother had mailed back to her from Pilagos during the years of the conflicts against the Pellish. She read aloud to the table passages in which the captain praised his troops’ courage and steadfastness, and also passages about the queen and Lord Ambrice. The diners at the table, including Cerúlia, hung on every word about their lost loved ones.
“Would you mind sharing those letters, or the parts that aren’t personal, with Royal Chronicler Sewel?” Cerúlia requested. “We have no record of those five years, and Clemçon’s accounts would help fill in the gaps.”
The queen spent the third course amongst the mariners, whose tables proved to be the loudest and jolliest. This choice, however, might have been a mistake, because they kept pouring her more wine.
Then the music started. Tables were pushed back to make room, and Percia, looking splendid in her peach wedding gown with a new pumpkin-colored doublet studded with tiny emeralds, took command of the room, arranging dancers in the proper rows.
By etiquette Cerúlia should have danced the first reel with either King Kentros or the prince, but Seamaster Gourdo, who had both served with her mother and father and been imprisoned by Matwyck’s Marauders, invited her to “cut a caper,” and his sailors so enthusiastically vouched that he was the fleet’s most skilled dancer that she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.
Gourdo proved to be an excellent partner, leading her so that she never missed a figure or a twirl. She made up for her breach of protocol by dancing the next reel with Filio Kemeron. He hesitated over the steps, whispering, “Please coach me. Don’t let me disgrace myself.” He had some natural grace, and he tried valiantly. He held her hand and waist with just the right amount of gentleness and firmness, not too intimate or too distant.
She danced a third reel with Shield Branwise. He stepped on her toes and her feet started to hurt, but he glowed with such pride that the discomforts were washed away.
When the dance was over, however, she asked her shield, “Please escort me to Councilor Nishtari. I need to discuss the arrangements for the morrow.”
Her councilor for diplomacy had been drinking with the sailors too, so her eyes were a bit unfocused. Cerúlia discussed the order of the presentation of the visitors with her. They had counted on the Lorthers having the place of honor by coming last, but now Cerúlia requested that the Free States Raiders come last.
The Raiders must be in port. There is no note in response to mine? Is he only a few leagues from me tonight? What if he no longer cares for me?
Panic rose in her chest as all the equanimity she’d gained in the morning dissolved and the anxiety of the last few weeks repossessed her. She looked around the room for a distraction. Scores of people danced in couples: sailors with widows; duchesses with former prisoners; Stahlia with Duke Naven; Marcot with Percie; Alix with Wilamara; Tilim with a beautiful girl who was five summers too old for him; Vilkit with a relative of a Queen’s Shield. The twirling, laughing dancers offered a rare sight, a vision of the healing and union that Cerúlia had hoped the fest would inspire, but she suddenly felt very alone amongst all this gaiety.
Ciellō’s hand gently grasped her elbow. “I wonder, it has been a tiring day for damselle?” he whispered. “I wonder, too much wine, now leaving an aftertaste? What would please damselle?”
“Oh, Ciellō,” she exhaled with relief. “I am overheated and agitated. I would like to take a turn in the garden and go to bed. Can I, dare I, slip away? How can I leave without disrupting the dance?”
“Nothing would be easier, damselle,” he answered softly. “You just need to follow me in being stealthy. Leave the cloak. Later I fetch it.”
They slipped out a side door without fanfare and merely waved to the palace guards who recognized them. When they reached the East Garden, it sat quiet under the yellow harvest moons. Cerúlia kicked off her shoes and walked stocking-foot in the smooth, cool walkways, feeling her pulse return to normal. Owls hooted greetings from the trees, while Whaki lifted his leg on Stahlia’s carefully tended flower beds and Cici pranced, aquiver with delight.
“Better now, damselle?” asked Ciellō, breaking the long silence.
“Yes,” she sighed.
“You know, Ciellō,” she continued absently, grateful that he had rescued her from the Great Ballroom, “you never take a day off
. You are always … just there. Don’t you want to get away, have a day of leisure?”
“No, damselle.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t you want to go riding, or sightseeing, or to go practice your fiddle—anything—rather than always shadowing me?” She idly wrapped her hands around a slender tree and twirled her body around it.
“No, damselle.” He stood in the moon shadow of a shrub, in his typical pose of relaxation, like a cat always ready to pounce.
His tone is so serious. Does he not trust my Shield? As if his whole life is devoted to me.…
Oh, Sweet Waters! Have I been blind to the person who always stands beside me?
Cerúlia came to a dead stop on the path.
“I feel much better,” she said with forced brightness. “Let’s go in now.”
42
Activities did not begin until afternoon, to give everyone a chance to sleep late and to take the pressure off the staff.
Cerúlia had allowed the healer Finzle to mix her a sleeping draught. When she woke she took a long bath; then she sent notes to Filio Kemeron and Percia, asking them to meet her in her closet in the forenoon.
“Have any messages arrived for me?” she asked her servants, but none had been received.
Kiltti dressed her in the Pearl Gown. Cerúlia instructed Geesilla to pull her hair up and back from her face with combs decorated with pearls but to leave the sides and back flowing in loose curls.
She sent her maids away and sat for a moment, fingering the rough, scarred skin on her neck, thinking about pain.
Dogs, she sent, I have to do something very difficult. I’d like you by my side.
Cici, who had been lying on a chair, attentively watching her every movement as she dressed, jumped down, wagging her tail. Whaki, who had been dozing in a patch of sunshine, sat up, shook his head, and sniffed the air as if he could smell what troubled her.
Cerúlia crossed to the door to the Reception Room, finding Ciellō, as always, standing guard before it. A footman and a maid also stood at the ready for any instructions.
The Cerulean Queen Page 28
