The Madness of Kings

by Gene Doucette

  The courtyard between the castle proper and the outer wall was called the promenade. It was where most of the public-facing events like the Feast of Nita were celebrated. The promenade was how Battine’s family managed to have it both ways: On special occasions, the common-folk were allowed into the castle—meaning, through the castle’s gates—without having to allow them into the castle.

  The castle’s newest features were the two towers built just inside the wall on the left and right sides of the promenade. These were airship docks. They had platforms on the top, with staircases and a human-powered elevator to get people up and down. (They first tried using steam-power for it, but it was balky, and an elevator is the sort of thing that shouldn’t be balky. They converted to a pulley system almost immediately.) The docks had only room for one ship apiece and so, inevitably on occasions such as this, there was a line.

  She always thought the towers and the ships unsightly, and hoped that by the time of the feast, the docks—and the view of the horizon—would be free of dirigibles.

  The King’s Highway went right past the main gate and continued south some ways before curling east toward Orch, but with a small offshoot road that led to the main gates.

  There was a line of carts and carriages leading up to the gate from both ends of the highway. It looked like an assortment of royalty and peasantry with a smattering of jumped-up commoners, i.e., well-to-do merchants who hadn’t worked out yet how to marry themselves into the royal family but pretended they already had.

  Battine’s desire to be unfashionably late didn’t override her need to not wait in line to reach the castle in which she’d been born, so she guided Eremis into the dirt beside the road proper and slowed her to a trot. The horse complained, either because the unevenness of the off-road stretch was problematic or because she didn’t want to slow down. (Eremis would, if left unchecked, race full-speed directly into the Elonian Gap.) Or, Eremis thought cutting the line was rude because she’d been spending too much time around Mr. Haupid.

  Battine soon reached the gate amid a smattering of outcry from the more entitled collection of persons in line, including at least one direct relative. (She recognized an Alcon voice, but would have needed to have stopped to discern the exact source.)

  The guard at the gate stepped between her and the promenade, undoubtedly intent on chastening her for poor manners. Then he recognized who she was.

  “Lady Delphina!” he exclaimed. “Hello, Batt!”

  “Nistor! Long time. Still doing the grunt work, I see.”

  Nistor was one of the longest-serving guards in the castle. Likely balding under his helm, he had to be pushing thirty-five. He was still shaped like an oak stump though, looking as capable and intimidating as ever.

  “Only on special occasions,” he said. “These kids don’t know a family crest from a birthmark. Hang on.”

  Nistor stepped in front of the carriage that was about to be the next through the gates.

  “Step aside for Princess Battine!” he bellowed.

  Five of the “kids” helping with the gate scurried aside in a panic. One even fell to one knee.

  Battine walked Eremis through, passing right next to Nistor.

  “You do know I hate being called that,” Battine muttered.

  “I remember well, your ladyship,” he said, smiling. “I could hardly pass up an opportunity then, could I?”

  She laughed, and urged Eremis into a trot toward the main castle entrance.

  They were nearly finished staging the promenade. A large banquet table was set up on one side of the lawn, atop a raised dais. At the exact opposite end of the courtyard was the stage on which the annual play Nita’s Harvest would be performed. In between, there were open areas for common folk to either compete in games of skill or to barter and eat.

  Dozens of people were bustling about. It was difficult to tell how many of them were there as staff and how many were a part of the entertainment, but it was a lot of both. On the stage, the actors were working on the blocking, not yet in full costume. A pair of jugglers had claimed a circle of grass in order to toss wood pins back and forth, and a puppet show stage was getting set up in another spot. Meanwhile, men from the castle were carrying heavy trays of food for the massive table that would sport the evening’s spread.

  Battine rode past all of it, ignoring two guards who, separately, attempted to get her to stop and dismount. It wasn’t until she reached a third guard that she did so, and only because he was standing where she wanted to stop already: At the base of the steps that marked the castle’s main entrance.

  The very front of the castle was one of the newer pieces of architecture: wide, ivory steps leading to a glassed-in entryway, with a massive red carpet running from the bottom of the stairs all the way through the main doors and into the grand hall inside. Four massive braziers—two at the base of the steps and two at the top—were kept aflame continuously, and were joined when the suns fell by an array of torches and sconces inside and outside of the glass. The combined effect was a glittering spectacle rivaling anything that could have been accomplished with the aid of electricity.

  Battine didn’t get to appreciate the full effect, as the suns were only just setting, but one of the interior servants had begun lighting the torches using the fire from the nearest brazier. When she was a kid, she used to make up excuses to come out and watch them do this. On a few occasions, she also found a way to remain in the courtyard after Dyhine and Hadrine disappeared from the sky, the moon rose, and the glass entrance was transformed into something beautiful.

  “Stables are around back, rider,” the guard who mistakenly assumed she’d stopped for him said.

  “So they are,” she said. She dismounted and handed the reins to the guard. Then she unstrapped the saddlebags and threw them over her shoulder.

  “Her name is Eremis,” Battine added. “See that she’s tended to, would you?”

  The guard’s confused bluster didn’t result in any comprehensible words; he just stood there, wondering what he was supposed to be doing in this kind of situation.

  A deep laugh from behind Battine cut through the awkwardness of the moment.

  “You’ll want to put her in the queen’s stable, Dently,” Lord Oathe said. “I’m certain the princess is late for something.”

  “Hello, uncle,” Battine said, treating him to a quick embrace. Loris Jerrol, Lord Oathe, was a man of modest height and awesome girth, with graying hair that used to be black, blue-green eyes, and white (but tanned) skin. He had a square face and a nose that looked as if it had a natural shelf on which to perch spectacles. It was the nose, more than anything, which marked him as a blessed member of the Jerrol family. (The feature was called “Javilon’s nose”.)

  The guard holding Eremis’s reins managed to piece together the information necessary to process what he was supposed to be doing next. He bent his knee silently and then led the horse away.

  “Let me help you with all that,” Loris said.

  “You’re very kind,” she said. She extracted her crossbow from the saddlebags and handed the rest of it over. “It seems my man packed in lead weights with the clothing.”

  Loris laughed again. He had a deep laugh that could be heard from half a kalo away. “My wife brought an entire second carriage for her dresses. Your haul weighs far less.”

  “How is aunt Veta?”

  Loris Jerrol was married to Veta Alcon, who was one of Battine’s father’s sisters. Like many couples, they held more than one bequest: the Oathe estate in Totus, and the Khot estate in Ravum. Officially, they were Lord and Lady Oathe-Khot. Hardly anyone called them that, at least not in Totus.

  Last Battine knew, her aunt and uncle spent two seasons apiece in each estate.

  ”I’m sure she’s fine,” he said. “We arrived past nine, and she’s been preparing herself for the feast since. One day I’ll understand what takes so long.”

  “One day, so will I,” Battine said with a laugh.

  “
Well come on. I’ll see you in. I’m sure the queen will be happy to hear you’ve arrived.”

  Word of the arrival of the queen’s sister traveled through the castle like a fire. Battine had scarcely made it into the opening hall before she was beset upon by a half-dozen ladies-in-waiting—none of whom she knew the name of or recalled having met previously—who were ecstatic beyond all reason with the prospect of helping her to her chambers. Once there, they refused to leave, handling the unpacking of the bags and helping her decide which of the three dresses she’d be wearing for the evening. (She literally chose at random.)

  Before long, a bath had been drawn, soaps had been set out, and three of these excited young ladies stood fully prepared to help Battine scrub herself.

  She drew the line when one of them began to help her undress.

  “Ladies,” she said, “as much as I appreciate your help, I wonder if you’d allow me to wipe my own ass?”

  This caused shocked tittering, and then the lead lady (or whatever) suggested they all wait outside the chamber, ready in a moment for anything the princess might need. She thanked them, and waited for the door to close so she could undress and bathe in peace.

  Battine was still in the middle of enjoying the warm bath the ladies had drawn for her when she heard the door to the chamber open again.

  “Hello?” she said. “I’ve no need of your assistance but thank you. I know how to dress myself.”

  “We both know that isn’t true,” Queen Porra said from the door of the bathroom.

  Chapter Three

  “Hello, Porra,” Battine said. “It looks as if you’re wearing an entire jewelry box. Isn’t all of that heavy?”

  Queen Porra Alcon of Totus was dressed in a stunning purple off-the-shoulder ballgown with an embarrassingly long train, but this wasn’t what caught the eye. Her hair was up, to show off the royal circlet—her casual-dress crown, effectively—and massive, dangling earrings of gold, platinum, and ruby. Under most circumstances the purpose of the off-the-shoulder dress and the plunging neckline would have been to draw attention to the royal bosom; in this instance the goal was to provide additional space for between eight and ten necklaces.

  A diamond the size of a peach stone was the most eye-catching thing on the queen’s chest—it rested in the cleavage as if it was glued there—but possibly not the most expensive. The thick platinum chain that did three laps around Porra’s neck probably was. It looked like it had been composed of an entire vault of dorins, melted down and repurposed.

  Underneath all of that, Porra had the beauty of an Alcon in her prime: slender figure, high cheekbones, long, raven-black hair and so on. Unfortunately, her face was hidden under a layer of makeup. It was the opinion of the court that the beauty of the dark-complexioned women of the realm was accentuated by an overlay of deep reds, blues and purples. Battine thought it looked hideous, but unlike Porra, Battine didn’t spend her life looking for ways to differentiate herself from the dozens of relatives who looked exactly like her. Maybe that changed one’s way of thinking about these things.

  “It is quite heavy,” Porra said. “But no, it’s not a whole box. Just one drawer. I’ve brought you a dress.”

  “I have a dress.”

  “You mean this thing on the bed? That won’t do.”

  “It’s so difficult to keep up with the fashion trends, off in my little castle on the other side of the kingdom. I don’t suppose pants are coming into style any time soon? Because if so, I’m ready for it.”

  Porra ignored her. “Get out of there,” she said, “so I can send in the ladies you’ve banished and get you properly prepared. You are still Princess Battine, whether you like it or not; let’s make sure you look the part.”

  “How about if I appear utterly disreputable, so much so that I’m forced to decamp immediately? You won’t have to worry about my court etiquette again until another of our relatives joins the Five in the Haven.”

  “Don’t be a child,” Porra said, tossing a towel across the bathroom.

  Battine grunted, and climbed out of the tub.

  “I’ve missed the running water of this place,” she said, as she toweled herself dry.

  “You have indoor plumbing at Delphina,” Porra said. “Don’t you?”

  “I have a well, and an indoor tank that requires frequent refilling. I have two girls whose sole responsibility is to carry water to my bath rapidly enough that it doesn’t entirely cool off by the time it gets to me. It isn’t the same. Perhaps one day you’ll visit and I can show you.”

  Porra laughed. “Please,” she said. “Let’s not pretend there’s any chance of that happening. Why don’t you update the plumbing?”

  “The only contractors capable of the job use prohibited equipment,” Battine said. She emerged from the bathroom wrapped in the towel, her wet hair draining down her back. “They’re from Wivvol. I don’t suppose I can get special dispensation?”

  “I’m sure you can find someone in-kingdom capable of laying copper pipe.”

  “This is horrific,” Battine said, in reference to the dress her sister had laid out on the bed. It was a pastel burgundy with enough petticoats that, should Battine fall asleep while standing, she would likely remain standing. It also had the precise opposite of Porra’s plunging neckline: It buttoned up the back of the neck all the way to the chin.

  “You’ll look lovely,” Porra said.

  “I’m just wondering where to hang my sword. My belt wouldn’t go well with this.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. You know, this style is all the rage in court.”

  “Interesting that you aren’t wearing it, then.”

  “Of course not. I’m the queen. I don’t follow fashion; I establish it.”

  Battine strongly suspected that her sister was going out of the way to make sure Batt looked as hideous as possible.

  “Once you’re dressed,” Porra said, “the girls will bring you to my chambers for some proper jewelry.”

  “Oh joy,” Battine said.

  “Now then, I’m off to see about the arrangements downstairs. I’m sure they’re mucking up everything. It’s good to see you, Batt. It’s been too long.”

  Queen Porra headed for the door, somewhat more gracefully than seemed possible given how weighed down she was by everything.

  “About that dispensation,” Battine said.

  “What dispensation?”

  “For the plumbing. I was just thinking I should ask Kenson. He never could say no to me, could he?”

  Porra’s response was a notable lack of response. She took a deep breath, put her evening-gloved hand on the doorknob, and exited.

  Stupid, Battine thought. Definitely worth it, but stupid.

  The ladies came rushing in through the open door, like air filling a vacuum. Whatever agency Battine had regarding how she dressed or who was responsible for dressing her had evidently rushed out along with the queen and so, after a few token protests, she gave up and let them squeeze her into the outfit.

  And it was a squeeze. It had been a very long time since Battine had to dress “properly” for court; nearly long enough to forget that regardless of the style of the moment, clothing tight enough to make it impossible to take a deep breath would always be in fashion.

  Battine was only allowed the tiniest of rebellions. She skipped all but one of the petticoats, and when presented with shoes that would add three inches in exchange for all the blood in her toes, she opted to wear her leather riding boots instead. (She argued that with the long dress, nobody would know. A moot point, as all seven of the women helping her dress would undoubtedly be telling everyone about the boots as soon as they were outside of her company.)

  She toyed with trying to find a way to wear the sword, even if only in secret, but she couldn’t figure out how. Either it was very visibly on her hip—it did not go with the outfit—or it was hidden where she couldn’t access it easily, or sit comfortably.

  It wasn’t necessary anyway, k
eeping the sword, because they weren’t at war with anyone and she would be spending her evening in the company of the most thoroughly guarded people in Totus. They probably wouldn’t even let her get close to the king if they knew she had a sword, and she was family.

  The ladies-in-waiting were unaware of Battine’s internal struggle. They were far too preoccupied with making sure all of her buttons were done. Then one of them pulled out the makeup.

  “No,” Batt said, “no, no, that’s unnecessary.”

  The young girl—barely past her Haremisva—gasped.

  “But you must,” she said. “It’s…all of the ladies…”

  “All of the Alcons,” Battine corrected. “and the Horaces, Anitas, Jerrols and Patrochs. Do I look like any of them?”

  The girl was a pretty, white-skinned thing who was herself caked in too much makeup; it made her look like a polished block of ivory. Despite that, Battine could tell she was blushing.

  “N-no,” she said quietly. Battine calling attention to her status as an unblessed was probably at the top of their list of things they did not want to have happen while they were there. Half the room was holding its breath.

  “I’m sorry,” Battine said. “You’re misunderstanding. All of this—the makeup, the jewels, the peacock feathers you all call clothing—it’s the only way the royals have to set themselves apart, because when an Alcon looks in the mirror they see the same visage as that of the person across the table from them each morning.”

  “By the grace of the gods,” the girl said. Two others murmured agreement and a third performed the gesture of the Five: a hand over the heart, clutched into a fist.