“Taint”? One does nay understand.
Like a mash that has sat too long, and when you eat it, it makes you sick.
Thy thoughts have no odor.
Ahhhh. I’d like to see the countryside beyond Salubriton. Do you know the best way to go?
Naturally. One may be heavy, but one be not stupid.
Phénix began a long conversation with the mare, asking her whole life history (which was not very unusual or action-packed), just for the delicious sensation of using her Talent. Her ability to converse flowed as easily as ever. And that the mare identified her filled an empty corner of her heart.
The buildings thinned out, and the city’s hectic bustle fell away. Eventually Pillow swayed alone on a flat dirt road. The landscape was barren and mostly level, with a few small foothills in the distance and red rock formations scattered randomly. Ditches that might have been streams in wetter times were bone-dry. She passed a small pond that held only a cupful of dirty water at the bottom. Phénix saw no other travelers. She recalled what Damyroth had told her: Salubriton was situated on the edge of a thinly populated desert. The Wyes traveled by sea or river barge to other cities in the more fertile north of the country. Even though the inhabitants were accustomed to drought, this current dry spell was the worst in anyone’s memory.
The greater distance she rode, the hotter and drier the air became. She wished she’d thought to bring a hat and some water. Rooks or Codek would have chastised her (with good reason) for riding out so unprepared.
She was almost dozing in the heat and the monotony of the landscape. All of a sudden, Pillow reared in panic and dumped Phénix bang on her rear on the dirt road. The horse galloped a ways back toward the city before stopping her headlong flight. The young woman was too astonished by this event to even think of conversing with the horse about what had frightened her so.
If anyone had been around to see, Phénix would have been mortified by her lack of skill. She couldn’t recall ever being unhorsed before. She stood up, noticing that she was uninjured except for bruises on her seat, but feeling uneasy. She pulled her dagger from its sheath and looked in all directions.
In a few heartbeats, a tawny-colored catamount, which had been camouflaged by the dry grass until she moved, leapt onto the road in front of her.
Phénix regarded the mountain lion levelly. Perchance she should have been frightened, but the catamount gazed back at her with its yellow eyes, eyes a princella remembered from long, long ago.
You should not have frightened my horse, Phénix sent. That was very rude.
One wanted to meet thee, sent the catamount.
I didn’t know that catamounts live wild in Wyeland.
Indeed. This be where we live.
Some live in Weirandale.
One knows nothing of that.
Why did you want to meet me?
One has a new litter of kits. Wilt thou bless them?
Certainly. Bring them out of hiding.
Phénix sat in the middle of the dirt road. Three young kits crawled out of a dry rivulet, scampered over to her, and crawled around her lap. Phénix rubbed their fat bellies, caressed their soft fur, and let them lick her fingers with their rough tongues. They tried to climb up her clothing with their claws to reach her face, but she disentangled them.
The female catamount stood nearby, casting proud glances. Then she addressed Phénix.
Why art thou here, Your Majesty?
Here in the road? Because you frightened my horse.
Here in this realm.
I’ve been recovering from serious injuries.
Thou dost not bleed; thou dost not limp; thou rides a horse.
Aye, I am somewhat better now.
Then why art thou here, Your Majesty?
Are you saying it is time to leave? Truly, female catamount, you are most insolent.
One believes thou hast duties elsewhere.
Phénix firmly moved the kits off her lap and stood up.
This audience is at an end, she told the animal. Leave the area so that I can call back my horse.
The catamount blinked at her challengingly. Thou hast duties elsewhere, she repeated. The Waters ebb.
I TOLD YOU TO GO! commanded Phénix. The cat rounded up her kits and slunk off toward the foothills. Phénix sat back in the dirt of the road.
That the catamount had been instructed by a Spirit to accost her, she had no doubt. Phénix saw no streams or greenery, but it didn’t really matter if the Spirit had been Nargis, Vertia, Saulė, or one of the others. The point was that the cat had asked her to consider that question: “Why am I still here?”
Defensively she answered: I’m here because this is the first day I’ve even ridden a horse. I’m here because this is the first day I’ve even known whether my Talent survived uncorrupted. I still need rest.
True enough. But I’m also here because I’m afraid to leave. I don’t want to abandon this new fellowship at the recovery house. I don’t want to pull myself out by my roots once again.
She picked up a handful of road dust and let it sift through her fingers.
Yet this is not where I belong. This is not my soil.
I have played at being a wren, a kestrel, a finch, a skylark, and a phoenix. I can’t keep putting off what I know I have to do. If I am not ready now, I will never be.
She brushed the dust off her hands, rubbed them clean on her dustcoat, then used her fingertips to wipe the sweat that had pooled under her eyes and on the sides of her nose. She then stood up and slapped the dirt off her seat.
I must journey to Cascada and claim the Nargis Throne alone. It’s just taken this long for me to face it. Or, perchance, to be truly ready for it.
Pillow came to her whistle, full of apologies. Remounting posed a problem, but Cerúlia found a rock that she could scramble onto and then reach the horse’s stirrups.
Take us back to your stable, Pillow, she ordered. No, I am not angry with you.
On the long ride back, Cerúlia shifted in the uncomfortable saddle, trying to relieve her aching back. Eventually Pillow brought her back to the outskirts of Salubriton. Twilight fell, and a cooling breeze rolled in from the direction of the riverfront. The streets quieted, and lantern light glowed from interiors.
Cerúlia decided that tomorrow she would visit Shipmates tavern. A bodyguard would not really help her with her major task, but he might make the journey home less anxious. She should not scruple to use the gifts the Spirits had given her, such as her Talent, or the dagger and jewels that came from her uncle, Prince Mikil.
Besides, she had promised a dying man she would consider a bodyguard, and she wanted to prove that she was a woman of honor.
24
Cascada
Nana knew that the princella was still alive. First, because the two Fountains, the one in the courtyard and the one in the Throne Room, kept flowing (even if less vigorously). Second, because at the confrontation at Moot Table Lautan’s Agent had said that the Spirit of the Sea had saved her from Pozhar’s Magi.
So Nana bided her time, obeying Nargis’s orders and trying to keep tabs on conditions in the palace and around the realm.
The chamberlain who had taken over after Martza was fired (because the soup was not hot enough at an after-theater dinner), was a man named Vilkit. Regent Matwyck had wooed him away from the duchy manor of Woodsdale: he had no previous experience with the palace. Vilkit struck her as smart and ambitious, smart enough to know that Nana, as one of the longest-serving staff members, had crucial information that would be helpful to him. So he treated her with a certain oily respect, which she found both flattering and off-putting.
This week Vilkit had ordered a massive inventory of the palace linens and had asked Nana to supervise this task for the most precious chambers, the royal rooms and the second-floor guest rooms. And she’d told him she’d be happy to do so, once she returned from visiting a sick friend in Cascada.
Brother Whitsury, Nana’s ally among the Brothers of S
orrow, had met her at the Courtyard of the Star, and together they’d hired a carriage to take them to the feedlots on the far west outskirts of Cascada. As they disembarked at the third business, Nana shuddered at the too-familiar smells of cattle. But she also brightened at the sight of the silhouette she sought: Pontole, one of Queen Cressa’s Shields.
Fortunately, at the moment he worked in a paddock of some thirty cattle alone.
“Nana!” he cried, putting down his bucket. “What are you doing here? If you wanted to see me, why didn’t you send for me?”
“Ah, Shield Pontole! ’Tis so grand to see you! Obviously, I wanted to speak away from the palace.”
“So you found me out, clever mittens. This is my brother’s lot.” His arm gestured over their surroundings. “I’ve been working here since I returned. But my plan has always been to put in for a position as a guard for a trader’s caravan. Pay’s better, and that would get me away from crowding my brother’s family, now that they’ve got even more mouths to feed. I guess I’ve been a lazy cuss; somehow I’ve never taken the step.”
“But if you went off with caravans, wouldn’t you be sent long distances?”
“Of course. Their wagons crisscross the duchies. But I don’t mind the traveling life. Might help me forget everything I want to forget.”
Whitsury spoke at this point. “I find that I can’t ever leave my troubles behind me. Pesky things; they tag after me wherever I go.”
Pontole put down his bucket and slapped some cattle on their haunches to get them to move out of the way. He crossed to the split-rail fence.
“Shield Pontole, let me introduce you to Brother Whitsury; he’s the head of the Abbey of Sorrow here in Cascada.”
“My honor,” said Pontole, looking at his dirty hands and deciding not to offer them to shake. “Do you mean, Brother, that I can’t ever escape the picture of Kinley dying on the deck? Kinley, she was a mate and a swell fighter. Or my guilt at not being with the rest of the fellows in the last sea battle? I know it’s crazy, but I keep imagining that I could’ve helped, that I could’ve saved someone.”
“Time will help. Time and drinking Nargis Water,” said Whitsury.
“It’s been a lot of years already, Brother. If time would help, you’d think it woulda done so by now. But I haven’t tried the Waters—I haven’t really felt worthy.…”
Nana spoke. “But you’ve no cause to feel guilt, because Queen Cressa sent you home with the horses.”
Pontole spread his hands and then made a fist and tapped his chest. “I understand that in my mind, but I still feel that I should’ve been with my mates and my queen.”
“What if,” Nana dropped her voice and spoke with great care, “I was to tell you about ways to serve Queen Cressa still?”
Pontole ducked through the fence crossbeams so that he now stood on their side. Forgetting his soiled hands, he reached for both of Nana’s hands.
“Nana! The princella!” he said in an excited whisper. “Do you remember the day Seena and I went riding with her? I think of it all the time. All the time! Have you found her? I would give my life to help the princella!”
Nana smiled at his enthusiasm. “Nay, Pontole, I don’t have the princella hidden away. But I know she’ll be coming back, and when she does she is going to need our assistance.”
“That’s for sure,” he said. “My brother’s wife, some nights she reads me the broadsheets—they are full of stories about what a wonderful regent Lord Matwyck has been. Methinks he’s got the writers by the shorthairs. And those statues of his ugly face that have been showing up more places … It’s a wonder he hasn’t put his likeness atop the Fountain! And the rumors floating about, saying that anyone who even talks about the princella had better shut his trap or else. Has something changed, this last year?”
“Yer a shrewd customer, Pontole. I’ve noticed this too. My guess is the death of his lady-wife has allowed the coxcomb to strut more.
“Pontole, do you know the whereabouts of the other two shields who came back with you?” Nana asked.
“Sergeant Yanath and Branwise?” Pontole shooed away a horsefly. In the distance two other workers came out of a barn and Pontole waved at them.
“Aye.”
“Branwise has fallen into his cups. He does odd jobs and drinks away the money. I see him quayside, outside whatever tavern that day offers the strongest drink for the least coin.”
“And Yanath?”
“Yanath got married. Imagine that! A widow woman with two sons and fifteen acres. He spends most of his days hitched to a plow and his nights chasing varmints away. I see him now and again. He invited me to the farm for Harvest Fest. Actually, it’s not very far from the city. ’Twas so grand to spend the holiday with him. I wondered if I’d be in the way, but his missus was right cordial to an old pal and made me feel ever so welcome.”
“Are they still loyal to the throne?” Nana asked as she lifted a boot to inspect the bottom.
“Nana! How can you ask that? Of a surety.”
Whitsury had a practical streak. “How are their fighting skills, Pontole? For that matter, how are your skills?”
“We all hung up our swords when we returned. That was somethin’ like nine summers ago. We’ll be rusty for sure. And if Branwise has the shakes…”
Nana turned to Whitsury. “Can we even trust a drunkard? Wouldn’t he sell us out for a pitcher of brew?”
“In his day Branwise was a great swordsman,” Pontole put in eagerly. “Water’s sake—what a fighter! Better than me, for sure. Couldn’t we give him a chance? Something to sober up for, something to live for?”
“I’d like to see ’em both before I decide,” Nana said slowly. “Pontole, forget the caravan jobs; stay in the capital, even if you change positions or move lodgings. You can always reach Brother Whitsury at the abbey near the Fountain. Keep in touch with him and always tell him where to find you. If you get Branwise sobered up and get Yanath to come to town, Whitsury will arrange for us five to meet. In the meantime, polish the rust off yer sword, restring yer bow, and lose that roll of lard on yer belly.”
“Nana! Hey, you call to mind my old captain. He wanted us all to stay trim. Are nursemaids now soldiers?”
Nana chuckled. “Takes a lot of backbone to handle princellas. And everything has turned topsy-turvy these days.”
“What would you have me tell Yanath and Branwise?” asked Pontole. Despite his soiled work clothes, the man already held his back straighter.
“Keep me and Brother Whitsury out of it for the nonce,” said Nana. “The Lord Regent is always sniffing around to find out what I am up to, and General Yurgn tries to root out every Royalist. But I’m hoping they may just have forgotten about you three. So tell yer fellows this: while you was praying at the Nargis Fountain for the souls of the departed shields, Nargis spoke to you.”
Pontole’s mouth fell open in awe. “What did the Spirit tell me?”
“What else? Nargis said, ‘’Tis time to prepare for the return of the queen.’”
25
Sutterdam
On top of his happiness at finding Hake as hale as could be expected at Olet’s Olive Oil and Spicery in Pilagos, Thalen felt great relief in shrugging off some of the burden of decision-making onto his brother’s muscular shoulders. True to his word, Hake was able to arrange passage for the surviving Raiders and their two Free States quartermasters, Quinith and himself, home to Sutterdam on a ship that was slated to depart in five days.
Thalen left the decision about the horses to Hake, who decided to sell them to the livery stable to spare them another long, cramped voyage. Thalen felt no regret, because Brandy reminded him of Adair, who reminded him of Skylark; Cloves reminded him of Eldo, who reminded him of Skylark.… Every damn horse reminded him of Skylark, or of someone else who had gotten killed following his lead.
Two days before they were to embark, Eli-anna knocked on the door of the quartermasters’ office. Most of the Raiders had assembled there to pic
k through the stores of supplies Hake and Quinith had gathered for clothing or weaponry they needed to replace. (Cerf and Quinith, however, had gone off to search Pilagos for Pemphis’s kin or any answer to the mystery of the fortune in jewels that had been found in his saddlebags.) Dalogun and Tristo hankered for new trousers; Fedak, a new dagger; Kambey needed all new clothes because his own had gotten so torn and bloodstained; and Thalen, like everybody, wanted a new neck drape.
“Ah, Eli-anna,” Hake greeted her. “Everyone decent?” he called over his shoulder, not understanding that modesty had long gone by the wayside during their moons together. “Come in, come in. I’m sorry, we didn’t collect much gear for women, but I can give you coin to purchase anything you need in town.”
“I don’t need new clothing, and I prefer my own arrows. There is something I want, though,” she said. She nodded toward Jothile, who wore a new hat that Kran had insisted he try on. “You should take that, Jothile. It suits you.” Jothile came close to smiling at the compliment.
“Name it,” said Thalen, who was sitting on a chair trying on new boots. “I’d lay the riches of the Green Isles at your feet.”
Eli-anna paused until everyone looked at her expectantly. Thalen felt a premonition the split second before the words came out of her mouth.
“I want to go home.”
“Eli-anna, no!” exclaimed Fedak. “What would we do without you?”
“You’re our best archer,” said Wareth, dropping the shirts he’d been sorting through onto the floor.
“Eli?” said Tristo. “Have we done something wrong? Something to offend you?”
Thalen felt her gaze rest on him. If he asked her to stay, he thought she might relent. But he felt she might want something from him that he couldn’t give, certainly not now, and maybe not ever.
Kran went down on one knee. “Marry me, my marvelous Mellie maiden, and always protect my back.”
Everyone was stunned, because no one knew how serious Kran was. After a moment of silence, Eli-anna took this as a joke and started laughing. “Someone else will have to protect your back. I’d as lief marry an aurochs.
A Broken Queen Page 19
