“Yes.”
It was a quiet evening. She heard him draw breath. “Very well,” he said. “That’s a start.”
“Yes. What is next will be harder.”
The first night she and Marlen had talked, she had learned more of his purpose in Tamryllin. By the end he had told her: Elissan Diar had been wounded by magic. By magic, then, he might be destroyed. So went the reasoning of Lin Amaristoth, who had sent Marlen on this mission. And Rianna had been roped into it since she was here, and willing. And well-positioned with regard to the king.
“A long slash runs up his abdomen,” Marlen had told her that night. “Long, and deep. From an enchanted sword. Elissan used enchantments to heal himself, but it remains a weakness. Lin does not know yet how to exploit it. With the right materials, she might learn.”
Rianna had narrowed her eyes at this. “Materials?”
“Some strands of Elissan Diar’s hair, to begin.”
That would not be simple, but Rianna knew she would find some way. The other ingredient Lin required would be more complicated—more dangerous—to obtain. That next night in the garden, standing with Marlen before the fountain, her thoughts were racing. It had been easier to purloin the hairs than she’d expected. But it paled before what was required next.
“I am not sure how we are to do it.” Marlen spoke quietly. Though it would be hard for someone to spy on them here, it was not impossible. Mist swirled around and about, and the concealment of hedges went both ways. “We must make a plan.”
“Oh, truly?” Rianna laughed. “I had thought to simply march up to him with my knife and cut into a vein. It is tempting.”
“I’m sure it is,” said Marlen. “And it would get you killed. No one is asking that of you—least of all Lin. No, we must think of something. Give me some time to get to know him … his habits. Our time runs short, but surely I have a few days.”
“For a king’s blood,” she said, with a faint grin, “a few days’ planning is acceptable.”
Those were the two things Lin needed to probe Elissan Diar’s vulnerability. Some hairs from his lustrous head. His blood. A king’s blood. Her own words redounded to her. It was strange to think of this man, with whom she had grappled intimately, as king. There was no connection between that august title and the things he had said to her, and done, when they were alone.
Except when he spoke of making her queen.
After Rianna and the king had kissed—after she had secured the hairs in her pocket—he had escorted her to the dining hall for the evening meal. Everyone saw them enter the hall together. Not with joined hands, that would have been too much. But surely the heightened color in both their faces told its own story. Rianna was acutely aware of all the eyes on her. No one dared say anything then, but in private they would. The talk would start. It could not harm the king, but for Rianna—the potential consequences were different.
Word had a way of traveling fast. Especially when it was salacious, and concerned the king.
Now Marlen said, “I am sure Ned would understand. Why you must do … as you’re doing.”
For some reason this angered her. “I don’t care. I don’t care what he thinks.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and sounded as if he meant it.
Her mind went back to that scene in the dining hall. The awkwardness as she’d made her way to take her place with the women, feeling their eyes. Distantly she’d heard Syme the Fool singing, thankfully not something lewd. His instincts, perhaps, not attuned to such things. There was something childlike about him.
That recollection made her say, “There is one more thing we must do together, Marlen. This weakness of the king—it is important. But I’ve discovered something else. That night we met, I was in search of something. A magical weapon Elissan is said to possess. I have reason to think it is somewhere beneath the palace.”
“The tunnels,” he said. Realization dawned in his eyes. “That’s why you were down there last night. Picking up on a jester’s track. Oh yes—I saw the trinket you found on the stairs. But how did you hear of this?”
Quickly she told him of the conversation she had overheard between Etherell and Sendara.
He looked thoughtful. “For Elissan to feel secure on the basis of this … thing he conceals … it must be powerful. We have to find it.” A long sigh, and he ran a hand through his hair. “That’s two tasks, now. You drive a man hard, Rianna Alterra.”
She shrugged. “I will investigate further, with or without your help. Oh stop making faces. I know you will help.”
“You take everything so seriously, lady,” he said. “It’s bad for one’s digestion.”
“Speaking of being driven hard,” she said, “you haven’t mentioned Marilla. What does she think of your being here?”
“She wants to kill me. Of course.” His tone light. “So there are two things set to challenge us—a wound, and a weapon. A neat parallel. Perhaps I’ll write another song someday, after all.”
She smiled in the shadow of her hood. For herself, whether or not he could see it. She had not shared the thought that had begun to recur: if they failed to stop Elissan Diar and the day of coronation came, her duty was clear. No one else was positioned as near the king as she.
It would not be the first time she had cut a man’s throat.
Rianna thought of her daughter’s face, and of Ned, and of her father. This palace had taken her away from all she knew.
Asterian returned from the Underworld with his task unfulfilled. And that, forever after, had become his story. A celebrated poet, yet all that was remembered of him was that failure. He had failed in perhaps the most vital of life’s missions—in love.
“We live a song, as ever we have,” she told Marlen. Words that brought to mind Darien, the Path, all the turns and turns that had led her here. “Whether you come to write it is of no concern to me.”
CHAPTER
5
SHE felt as if their eyes were on her, as each woman bent to her work. They sat in Sendara Diar’s chambers. Each of her ladies-in-waiting set to constructing a fragment of the princess’s coronation dress. Rianna worked on the skirts now, stitching together two long panels of green velvet.
No one knew exactly what had passed between Rianna and Elissan Diar, but since the previous evening in the dining hall most believed they knew enough. So Rianna thought, at any rate, by observing the way the women exchanged glances with one another; in the set of one’s lips, or the tone another might take when addressing her.
Six women waited attendance on Sendara Diar. Four were young—Rianna the only one who was married. It was likely the three young women had thought to find a match here at the castle, among the lords and statesmen at court. They could not have known what sort of court it would be.
The other two women were old enough to be Sendara’s mother; and may have hoped, when they’d first arrived, that she might confide in them. After all, every girl needed a mother. That hope, if it had existed for either of the women, was soon eclipsed; Sendara disdained them all. What they knew of her inner life—her fears, her moods—they knew from watching. And then were careful not to let that knowledge show, lest insults follow, or punishment.
Sometimes Rianna wondered why Sendara Diar had women attending to her when she seemed—at least at times—to loathe them. There was the possibility that beneath her contempt was something else: a lonely girl, thrust in a position fraught with complexities, in thrall to a man who treated her much as a court musician did his lute: to be played at intervals, and put away.
Rianna had the sense that in the past, Sendara Diar and her father had been inseparable. Sendara occasionally spoke of the work she had done for him, reading old manuscripts and making notes. Such was how their life had been in courts the world over. It was only now that things had changed. Elissan Diar was focused on consolidating power. Their tasks together had ended, leaving Sendara in this room, with these panels of velvet and little but dreaming to sustain her.
Rianna’s ears picked up a new conversation. Until then, what had been under discussion was something to do with fashions and fabrics and she didn’t care, but now she had heard mention of one phrase she had long not thought to hear.
“Listen. It’s to do with the Silver Branch.” It was one of the young ladies-in-waiting, a pretty redhead named Marisse.
“You shouldn’t be listening to anything Syme says,” said another of the women, disparagingly. “He’s not right in the head.”
“No,” Marisse agreed. “But I’m not listening to him. He heard it from the king’s valet and babbled it out in some doggerel verse. And then the king told him to be quiet, but not before I had heard.”
“Heard what?” Rianna had spoken more sharply than perhaps she ought. She was annoyed that she had missed this.
Marisse drew herself up, though not before casting a cold eye at the king’s harlot. For a moment, her disgust with the person who had asked the question warred with her eagerness to answer it. But only a moment, before she said, “The words were something like:
Time turns, spring to fall,
Ensnaring what was deathless.
The deathless dies, life awakens
On the Branch from beyond time.”
Rianna thought Marisse must have a good memory—it sounded like a full verse to her, quoted correctly. And into the room it brought a chill, though that might have been her imagination. Her own associations with the Branch and the Otherworld dredged to the surface of her mind. That journey, years ago. The revelation of her mother’s life. Darien’s death. The Branch from beyond time.
Sendara Diar was nonplussed. “What does that mean?”
Marisse looked pleased to have provoked a reaction of interest from the princess. “Well, leave it to Syme to make it into something odd and confused. I had to get the valet to tell me. It’s just this:
One day the Seers at the Academy found that the Silver Branch was bare. Its flowers had wilted and fallen to the floor of the Hall of Harps.” As she spoke, she warmed to the tale. “From silver they had turned brown, then turned to dust. As you can imagine, the Archmasters panicked. The Branch had not changed since Edrien Letrell first brought it from the Path.”
“Bare,” said Sendara, looking stricken. “But what is the meaning, then, of ‘life awakens’?”
“There is more,” said Marisse, looking smug as a child with sweets. “The Seers left the Branch on its pedestal—they didn’t dare touch it. They took to their council chamber to discuss what had happened. It’s said Archmaster Kerwin was quite angry, though as you can imagine, at no one in particular. Who could he blame? My guess is, he feared what the king would do when he heard. That he might blame the Seers for negligence.
“Then one night a student tasked with cleaning the Hall of Harps went inside and saw a marvel. The Branch was no longer bare. In place of flowers had emerged plump fruits—apples, it’s said. And not silver. They are rosy like red gold, or copper. The first time the Silver Branch has changed in many an age, and it happens now.”
Sendara blinked a moment, her lapis-blue eyes blank and exquisite as that of a doll. Then she drew herself up. “The meaning is clear, isn’t it?” Her tone was haughty. “At last the Poet King has come. To make things right again.”
Rianna did not dare to speak. Her thoughts like a cat chasing a ball. Time turns. The deathless dies.
She thought of the prophecy that had driven Lin Amaristoth back to Eivar. Time, ensnaring what was deathless.
Verses that came from mad Syme Oleir. There was more to him than he showed. If she could only discern what it was.
“Perhaps you’d like to share your thoughts, Rianna Alterra?” Sendara again, sounding contemptuous. “Or are you too busy dreaming of your dalliance with my father?”
Shock could catch you like a punch to the chest at times. This was one such occasion for Rianna. She hoped it didn’t show. She went very still. Now the women openly watched her. After the veiled glances and comments, Rianna had not expected a frontal attack. She allowed herself time to collect her thoughts. Then said, “I was thinking of what changes to the Silver Branch might mean. For all of us.”
She hoped that would settle it. But Sendara was not to be put off. Her eyes were hard. “You know he sees you as a diversion, don’t you?” she said. “He has courted the most beautiful women in the world. None more so than my mother.”
Rianna risked matching her stare for stare. “I do not in any way seek to replace your mother, my lady.” Gods help the poor woman.
Sendara pursed her lips. “I don’t trust you,” she said. “He shouldn’t, either.”
“As you say, my lady,” said Rianna, “it is likely I am nothing to him. A diversion. And therefore,” she added decisively, “not something that should be of concern to you.”
Deliberately, Rianna went back to her sewing. She felt the stares, but pretended not to. Her gaze was fixed on her work. She didn’t know what Sendara did, but after a silence, one of the women tactfully started up a new conversation. Rianna was grateful then for the arts of women, for which she had been feeling little appreciation. It was clear she would have to be on her guard more than ever. She had the father’s goodwill, but not the daughter’s. And the daughter might turn the father if she set herself to it.
* * *
SHE had a chance to speak with Elissan Diar later that day. He had just met with representatives of the guilds and was in a good mood, perhaps after having successfully asserted dominance. He tended to enjoy that. He had drunk wine with them, his face ruddy in the afternoon light. He had agreed to receive her in his chambers but they sat formally, in carven chairs. Rianna did not know what had caused the change; she feared Sendara had already said something.
She hated that she was examining his decisions with regard to her, down to the choice of where they sat. It gave her insight into what it would be like to be a king’s mistress. When a man held your fate in his hands, you learned him by heart, better than he would ever know himself. An inventory of his habits, moods, and preferences, composed with a single aim—survival.
Rianna hoped she showed no sign of concern as she sat upright. She had declined to drink; he had his wine. For a time she listened as he spoke of the events of the morning. Her guess had been right: he had strong-armed the guilds regarding a tax. It didn’t interest her and she didn’t follow it closely. Mostly, she watched his face.
“You are happy today,” she observed, when it seemed he had done in the telling.
He looked thoughtful a moment. Then smiled. “It hadn’t occurred to me, but—you are likely right. The business of governing, even down to its minute details, can be exhilarating. I always knew it would be.”
“You were born for it,” she said. Feeling in that moment as if she spoke the truth.
He looked gratified. And something else beneath that. When he glanced away a moment, took a sip of his wine, it was as if he were gathering himself. When he met her eyes again, he said, “The way you looked at me, just now. I did not expect it.”
She reflected, with acidity and alarm, that her task would be overall easier if he were repellent and stupid.
“Sendara spoke to me today,” she said. She had weighed her options and decided directness was best.
“Oh?”
“She is not pleased. By our … association. I believe she fears I will replace her mother. I tried to assure her, but … I thought you ought to know.”
It was a gamble. She counted on his being drawn to her sufficiently to forgive this lapse—his daughter’s disapproval.
Surprisingly, he laughed. “She will get used to you,” he said, with indulgence that Rianna was not sure was intended for Sendara or for herself. “Sendara is still maturing. In time, my hope is that she will look to yo
u as an example. If you will just be kind to her—please—I believe she will come to learn from you. Your poise and strength. Intelligence, she already has. But strength … I fear I have not allowed her to be tested. And seeing you—seeing what you are—I am beginning to think that was a failing. Much as I want the world for her.”
Seeing what you are. It could make her choke. She could imagine, in that moment, giving in to him. Truly giving in. She was exhausted, and he saw her. It seemed he did. He knew she had suffered.
She grasped for what was safe. It also happened to be something that was bothering her. “You told me you want Sendara to have a destiny. Yet her ambition has slipped away. Her books gather dust.”
“She is distracted by the wish to marry,” he said. “She will return to her studies again, in time.”
“But is it right to delay those studies? To marry so young?”
He shrugged. “She is still a woman.”
Now Rianna thought she could kill him easily.
She said, “What do you think happened to the Silver Branch? Caused it to change?” A question fired, direct as an arrow.
He raised his eyebrows. “I am surprised you heard about that.”
“Women hear a lot of things.”
It was at that moment that the door to an adjoining room opened. Syme Oleir came in. Rianna wondered what he’d been doing in there, and what he had heard.
Syme blundered up to them with his shambling walk. His face was pale beneath tangled hair. His long, pointed shoes ridiculous. He stopped before the king’s chair. “I have seen the white queen. Ice and snow, frost and rime.”
“You are a fool, Syme,” said Elissan, and shook his head, perhaps at himself for stating the obvious. “I told you to stay in the other room.”
“She has come to visit,” said the Fool. “Haven’t you seen her?”
Elissan seemed to pause as the Fool’s words sank in. His face went slack. He looked as if he were listening for something. A distant music. Then said, at last, “I believe I have, Syme. In dreams of late. Do you mean to say she’s here?”
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