The Cerulean Queen

by Sarah Kozloff

  She turned to the servants. “I’d like you both to go to my closet. I have a meeting there later this morning. Open the windows, stir the fire, and make the room as fresh and tidy as can be. Don’t come back until I give you leave.”

  “As it pleases Your Majesty.” The footman bowed and they departed.

  “I need to speak with you,” she said to Ciellō, once they had the room to themselves. She stood still, in the middle of the carpet, restraining her hands from fiddling with each other or her skirt. She had wanted to get this interview over with as soon as she had awoken, but she knew it was better to wait until she was fully arrayed in royal garments—her new style of armor.

  He inclined his head but said nothing. She gathered her courage.

  “Ciellō, you know one day I will marry.”

  “Of course, damselle.” Ciellō’s only reaction to what must have been a rather surprising topic was to blink once.

  “Whether it be to Filio Kemeron or someone else, one day I will wed. I need to produce a daughter for the realm, and I need a husband at my side.”

  “Of course, damselle.” His stance, balanced on both feet, remained completely composed.

  “What will it be like for you, Ciellō, when I spend time with another man?”

  If she hadn’t been regarding him so intently, with senses she had trained, she might have missed the flash that passed through his eyes.

  Whaki? I sense jealousy and anger.

  One doth as well.

  And dominance, added Cici.

  “I will stand behind you and guard the body,” Ciellō said. “Your … husband will not guard you as well.”

  “No,” the queen answered. “I don’t think such an arrangement is possible or desirable. I have had the blessing of being able to relax and feel safe under your protection for over a year, but that must now come to an end.”

  “Come to an end? Why, damselle?”

  “Because it is not just a sexual spark—you care for me more than a bodyguard should.” She tilted her chin up, daring him to deny it.

  “Of course, damselle.” He smiled his feline smile. “And always will. And one day your husband, he will die, and I will still be here. And you will see me.”

  “I see you now,” Cerúlia answered, and though inside she quailed at the image of Ciellō standing around, waiting for her husband to die, she smiled, trying to convey all the genuine affection she felt for him. “I see your grace, your strength, your good council, and your loyalty. But keeping you beside me would be using you in a way I cannot continue. I have been blind to do so for so long.”

  “And if I want to be ‘used’ in order to stay close beside you?” He lifted one eyebrow ironically.

  “That is an untenable situation that would dishonor both of us.”

  His eyes flashed again, though he was so in control of his body that he did not move.

  “What is dishonorable,” his voice came rougher, “is that you yearn for me too. And yet you are too proud to entertain the suit of a Zellish commoner.”

  “Do you truly think that’s the barrier between us?” Cerúlia asked, determined not to get angry.

  “What else?” Ciellō shrugged. “Admit, damselle, that if I crossed these few steps and carried you to the bed, you would moan with pleasure.”

  Cerúlia closed her eyes a moment. She could not deny that a flash of warmth coursed through her at the mere suggestion, but the anger that she’d been determined not to show bubbled up even more strongly. She laid her hand on Whaki’s head for strength and opened her eyes.

  “Ciellō. Indeed, as you know, I am susceptible to your … magnetism. But. I cannot choose a life partner who cares nothing for Weirandale.”

  Her bodyguard was caught completely off guard by this topic. If he hadn’t been so perfectly balanced and poised he might have moved. As it was, his eyebrows shot up.

  “Why would I care for this land? It is just a country, like many I have seen. Not even a particularly well-ordered one.” His tone softened into a purr. “But if you want to worry over it and its people—during the daytimes—I would not stop you.”

  “There it is,” Cerúlia shot back. “There is the second problem. Your arrogance. You would not stop me? You would give me your permission to care for my realm? I have Dedicated my life to my realm. Can’t you hear yourself, Ciellō?”

  “Damselle.” He took one step closer. “Don’t be foool-ish.” His voice took on the irritating, patronizing quality she had noted the day they met. “You may wear a pretty bauble, on occasion you surprise me, but you are young and inexperienced. I, an older man, more traveled—”

  Cerúlia broke off his sentence. “This audience is at an end.” With effort, she regained her self-control. “I am so profoundly grateful for your friendship and your services these last months that I would not end our time together with a quarrel with you.

  “As of this moment, you are discharged. I ask that you leave the palace forthwith.”

  Nostrils flaring, Ciellō took a few deep breaths; he stepped back one step into the spot he had previously occupied.

  Although he had just increased the distance between them, Whaki, protectively, moved in front of her leg. Cici yipped once, in warning. Ciellō stared at the dogs as if they, not Cerúlia, had just broken his heart.

  “The palace I will leave,” Ciellō said quietly. “Once before you ‘discharged’ me; and soon you discovered your folly—that you need me at your side. That you are in danger without me. Again, I will wait at the Sea Hawk inn until your senses you regain.”

  Once the door had clicked shut, Cerúlia shook out her skirts and walked back into her bedchamber. Given all that she’d been contending with, perhaps she should forgive herself that she had missed the signs of Ciellō’s possessiveness. She suspected that on one level she had noted it since the Misty Traveler but had deliberately chosen to overlook the complication because Ciellō was the only person who made her feel, after years of living in fear, entirely safe and protected.

  But her selfishness had ended up wounding him, and she berated herself for exploiting his devotion in this manner for so long.

  It is past time that I take responsibility, if not literally for my own security—for I will always have shields about me—then for my own sense of safety.

  She affixed her dagger to the dress’s belt loop.

  She rose and took a kerchief to the Queen’s Waterfall in her room. She wet the cloth in the flow and then pressed its cool dampness to her temples, throat, and wrists. This was just the beginning of a long and difficult day, a day she’d been praying for and dreading.

  Another thought struck her: Had she kept Ciellō beside her because she was insecure about her comeliness? Had she enjoyed having such a man yearn for her? That was an even uglier possibility and she longed to dismiss it outright, but she recognized at least a grain of truth.

  In anger at herself, she said out loud to the dogs, “Well, if he is so much more mature and experienced, he should have watched out for his own heart! He should have left me the first time!”

  The dogs blinked, and her voice in the empty room sounded childish to her own ears.

  Relationships with men—they are just too complicated and messy, she sent to her pack.

  Why doth thou not eat? answered Whaki. A full stomach makes thy tail wag.

  Cerúlia had no better plan of action, so she retrieved her servants and ordered a small tray, which she ate with great care so as not to get a crumb on her gown.

  * * *

  At the appointed time the queen tossed her trailing hair back, squared her shoulders, and went into the Queen’s Closet to meet with Filio Kemeron, with Percia as a chaperone. Perchance she should have consulted with her council before speaking to him directly. Undoubtedly Envoy Rakihah would have wished to be in the room. But she had decided that her own marriage was primarily her own business.

  And she felt less trepidation treating with the prince directly than she had in talking to Ciellō. K
emeron she had already judged to be a phlegmatic man, unlikely to break out in scenes or reproaches.

  After beginning with polite preliminaries, she invited Kemeron to sit across from her at the mahogany table.

  “Filio Kemeron, we mentioned ‘honest talk’ as opposed to courtly compliments. With your permission, I would speak to you openly.”

  “I would be grateful for this intimacy and trust.”

  “Please correct me if I am under a misapprehension, but my councilors have speculated whether your visit might be the opening of an intended courtship.”

  “There is no misapprehension,” Kemeron smiled. “That was my father’s and my intention, an intention that has turned to certitude upon meeting you.”

  “I am deeply honored. And I must tell you—however unusual this may sound from a queen—that though I do not know you well yet, I find myself drawn to you.”

  He mirrored her seriousness and honesty, “As you must know, I am powerfully attracted to you. Moreover, Your Highness, I believe I could make you happy.”

  “I believe that you would try your hardest. But we both know that this would be a strategic union, a union intended to bring benefits to both nations.”

  The prince nodded. “Rorther masons could rebuild your palace better than before. Some of your foundations show shifting. That pond really should be dredged and edged with stone. You’ll pardon me for pointing out, but Cascada’s cobblestones were poorly laid; we could do much better. The avenue that slopes up from the harbor—it should not be so uneven. We would dig it up and fix its foundation.”

  Cerúlia tried to interject a word, but Kemeron did not take a breath. She realized that last night at dinner, once she had gotten him started, he had done nearly all the talking too.

  “I have heard about statues of queens that stand in some garden. They have been allowed to decay?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but Kemeron continued without pause, “I would work on them myself; I would bring them back to their former glory or even better! I could do that for you, Your Highness, and for your people.

  “I know, I know—stonework is not the major point. The major advantage I bring is that Rorther stability could lend strength to a realm that has recently gone through upheaval and insecurity. With a Rorther royal as consort, Weirs would never again have to worry about coups or plotters. Your realm would be protected with all my kingdom’s might.”

  Cerúlia nodded. “I have considered all those advantages, though I didn’t know about the cobblestones’ deficits.”

  She continued, “You know, an alliance with Weirandale would benefit Rortherrod with equal blessings. A Weir queen comes from a fruitful land, where the crops are nourished by Nargis Water. And she comes with a Spirit’s grace and endowed with a Talent.”

  “I did not mean to imply that my realm would be the major donor,” said Filio Kemeron, though that is exactly what he had just done. “I am sensible that we would be the recipient of a glorious bounty. And that in you yourself, Rortherrod would gain an unparalleled prize.”

  Cerúlia didn’t particularly enjoy thinking of herself as a prize being bestowed. But she bobbed her head at the compliment.

  “Nonetheless, my prince, we must also consider the impediments.”

  “Impediments? I see only advantages.”

  “Last night, as you were talking of Rortherrod,” she said, “I realized how much you love your country, and how miserable you would be living elsewhere. And you must have learned from yesterday’s ceremonies that I will never again leave Weirandale for any period of time.”

  Kemeron’s tawny complexion turned darker, “But you haven’t visited yet. Our capital, Feldspar, our redwood forests! I know you would love these treasures. Couldn’t we split our time between the two realms? The voyage is not so very long.”

  “No.” Cerúlia’s tone grew adamantine. This was nonnegotiable. “Nor could we see each other only rarely. I know myself well enough to admit that I need a husband by my side. My grandmother’s marriage was motivated by strategy and it did not survive, and my mother’s confidence suffered when she was separated from her husband. I will not make the same errors that they made.”

  “I see,” said Kemeron slowly. “So are you asking me to choose between my country and you?”

  “No choice should be made in haste,” Cerúlia replied. “No choices are being made today. But there is another problem I wish you to consider. This might prompt you to change your intention.”

  “Having seen your loveliness, I would never—”

  Cerúlia didn’t want another compliment, sincere or insincere. She held up her hands to forestall him.

  “You must know, Nargis Queens always bear daughters. It is rare that they bear a second child and rarer still that a male child survives. Would you have our daughter rule both Weirandale and Rortherrod? Or were you hoping for a second, male heir for your kingdom? Or would you have your younger brothers’ sons inherit the Rorther throne?”

  “I had not thought that far in the future, Your Majesty,” replied the prince slowly. “You are right, however, that the issue of a successor would be quite important for my realm. Vital, in fact.”

  “In a marriage made for strategic alliances,” Cerúlia remarked, surprised that she had to teach the prince about this topic, “these are the issues that matter most.”

  “I see,” he said, and the room fell silent.

  “Your Highness, would you hold my hands?” asked Kemeron.

  Cerúlia laid her hands out on the table, and the prince took them in his own. His hands were warm and dry, with calluses from using tools. She’d never liked him as much as she did that moment, holding his hands, trying to dissuade him from wanting to marry her.

  “Your Highness, yesterday I found you very beautiful. Today, I find you honest, thoughtful, and so bright that truly, your mind quite dazzles me. You have given me much to ponder.”

  “Thank you, Kemeron. Wherever Fate may lead us, I wish you joy.”

  Cerúlia withdrew her hands from his grasp and looked at Percia, who, as chaperone and guard, had been standing silently near the door.

  Percia took the hint, looked at her hourglass pendant, and said, “Your Majesty, this afternoon’s events are about to commence.”

  43

  Unable to sleep late, Thalen left the Rare Talents Inn, where the Raiders had been lodged. The inn, a large and stately edifice, was located in the center of Cascada, just a short ways down one of the avenues that led to the Courtyard of the Star.

  Thalen paced the streets of Weirandale all morning, admiring the white bark trees, half dressed in red, that ran down the medians of the avenues. He let his steps lead him to the Fountain. The intricate patterns, the rainbows arcing in the autumn light, the piece of Nargis Ice mesmerized him. He watched the pilgrims drinking the water and rubbing it on their injuries. He had no cup, but he reached his hands into the spray and caught enough water for several full swallows.

  Sweet Water. Nargis Water. There were days in Oromondo when I would have killed for this drink.

  He repeated the gesture. Then, on impulse, he leaned into the cascading liquid, allowing the water to douse his head and face.

  There, Wareth! I’ve poured water over my head again. I pray this will help with my wild delusions about the queen. I just hope she’s an able monarch, able to maintain this peace, and after this event is over I can go back to the Scoláiríum with my fantasies and doubts safely chased away.

  He sat on the slightly damp ledge, listening to the patter and trying to reason through his situation.

  Tutor Helina was starting to grow on him; she was smart and amiable, and she obviously welcomed his attentions. He might never yearn for her the way he had once yearned for Skylark, but that overheated passion might have sprung from the dire circumstances they faced. Helina and he would be compatible with one another because they had such similar interests.

  Refreshed, and feeling more grounded and sensible, Thalen headed back
to the Rare Talents Inn. His fellow Raiders were already starting to shave and dress. Thalen had invited the quartermasters—Hake, Quinith, and Olet—to come to Cascada, but Hake would not leave the pottery just as it was getting off the ground, Quinith was needed to monitor the recovery progress in the Free States, and Olet did not believe his contribution warranted any fuss.

  A Weir councilor, a brown-haired woman named Nishtari of Queen’s Harbor, had greeted their ship yesterday. She’d explained that this festival honored many people for many contributions and sacrifices that had occurred during and after the reign of Queen Cressa. This councilor had a polite and professional manner, inspiring confidence. And when she mentioned that in her various travels she had visited both Slagos and Pilagos (where she had once been introduced to Olet), Thalen and Minister Destra had met each other’s eyes with a look of relief. This relief had redoubled when Nishtari went on to discuss her multiple trips to Sutterdam and Yosta. There was comfort, arriving in a strange realm, to be welcomed by someone who spoke with respect and familiarity of their homelands.

  For the upcoming ceremony, Thalen provided Councilor Nishtari with a parchment listing the names of all the Raiders who had fallen. The fact that his comrades, who had sacrificed their lives, would receive public acclaim was as gratifying as a drink of sweet water to a parched throat.

  The order of events provided that “Magistrar Destra of the Green Isles” precede the Free States Raiders. Councilor Nishtari arrived in an ornate carriage to escort Destra. As Thalen handed her up the steps, Destra patted his cheek and said, “Happy ceremonies are rare occurrences. I’m resolved to enjoy this moment to the fullest. You’d be wise to do so also.”

  Then three carriages pulled up for the Raiders. As they rattled through the streets, Thalen tried to quiet his thudding heart by looking out the windows at the sights of Cascada. Buildings flashed by his unseeing eyes. His carriage mates were quiet, nervous about the upcoming formalities.