“I saw her,” said Syme. He held his blue wool hat in his hands, that he wrung as though it were wet. “She is gone. For now.”
Rianna felt compelled to speak. “She? Who is she?”
“Syme is—he has a way of knowing things. Sometimes it is the broken mind that is receptive. Truth seeps in its cracks.” Elissan still looked shaken. “I know what he speaks of because she has come to me. When I sleep. I see a magnificent woman in white. Glistering like the frost, as the Fool describes. Eyes like blue crystals. She looks at me, and smiles. As if she knows.”
“Knows?”
Elissan looked at her with eyes she did not recognize. “Who I am,” he said. “The first Poet King in living memory. That her world, the Otherworld, and our own will be wed when I am crowned. A joyous thing.”
Faced with this strangeness, Rianna reached for the simplest defense. A joke. “I had thought you’d dream of me,” she said.
He looked suddenly threatening. He seized her hand, hard. She wanted to tell him that it hurt, but the intensity of his gaze stopped her.
“You are real, and here. And strong,” he said. “You must ground me in this world.”
* * *
THAT evening in the Great Hall was different. Marlen’s presence might have had something to do with it; the young ladies-in-waiting gathered around him. They had taken their sewing and moved their chairs to where he sat. He told some story of his travels, a journey he and Darien Aldemoor had taken together. “He was better-looking than I am,” said Marlen, throwing his glance at all the women. “You’d have liked him.” The tale he launched into concerned a sour-faced merchant and a challenge to sing a song that could make him laugh. The man had heard Darien and Marlen were a pair of comic songsters and assayed them to prove it for a purse of silver. Naturally it ended in triumph for the young poets, though not before they had run through their entire repertoire; after all, the story would have lacked drama if it did not proceed through the predetermined paces of high confidence, followed by desperation, then near-despair. At the last, their success hinged on an unlikely improvisation that involved—for some reason—a donkey, a leaky pail, and a spinning wheel. Rianna wondered how much of it was true.
Of course it ended, as such tales usually did, with the seduction of the merchant’s daughter by one of the two men; Marlen didn’t specify which, as if that part made no difference.
“I thank the gods I did not marry a poet,” said Rianna from her corner.
“That is unkind, surely,” said Elissan Diar, genially. He was in good humor. He and Etherell Lyr were engaged in a game of tabla.
“Your husband is not exactly exemplary, is he?” said Sendara. “To say nothing of yourself.”
“Hold your tongue, child,” said Elissan Diar, before Rianna could think of a reply. She had made the jest, in part, to provoke his interest. She had not accounted for his daughter.
Sendara jumped up, throwing down her needlework. Before anyone could say any more to her, she had stalked from the room. Rianna, feeling somehow culpable, rose to go after her.
“No … stay,” said Elissan, in a tone of command. “She must learn not to speak so to you. Come here, Rianna. Join us. Etherell’s conversation is dull tonight.”
“I am not nearly so pretty, is more to the point,” said Etherell with a grin.
She drew up her chair beside Elissan Diar. He took her hand. “Look at that board. Look what this wretch thinks is a good game.”
“Does he dare win against the king?” said Rianna with mock concern.
“Surely,” said Etherell Lyr. “He beats me because he is the better at it. I haven’t spent nearly as much time in taverns as my lord the king.”
“It’s true,” said Elissan. He motioned to a servant. “Bring Lady Alterra a glass of this. I’ll see that you drink it, too. I want to see color in your lips.”
The women surrounding Marlen had gathered more closely, as if his presence was a balm for them. One had dared to rest a hand on his shoulder.
The hothouse atmosphere of the castle might have been amusing under other circumstances, what with Marlen Humbreleigh contending with the advances of several attractive women at once.
Rianna sitting with her hand joined to that of the man who had beheaded innocents of Tamryllin and exiled her husband … that, she supposed, would not have been amusing at any time.
From an attentive bower of silks and scent Marlen called, “My lord Lyr. I hear you are skilled at the hunt.”
“I am not bad,” said Etherell, languid in his chair. “It might be more accurate to say that in some situations, I enjoy it.”
“How about a wager, then?” said Marlen. “Something to liven the day to day. I’ll wager that in three days I can take down more game than you.”
Now Elissan Diar broke in. “And where is all this hunting to take place, my lord?”
“Don’t you have grounds here?” said Marlen, all innocence. Rianna narrowed her eyes. Of course Marlen knew the answer to that. He knew this castle better than most.
“None here. There is a royal residence in the woods,” said Elissan. “A day’s journey south.”
“Have you hunted there yet, my liege?”
“I have not,” said the king. He had retained his appearance of good humor, but looked thoughtful. “This is not a bad idea, Marlen Humbreleigh. The time is right. Once the frost strikes, the roads will be impassable.”
“Can you do that?” said Rianna. “Go off on a journey on so little notice?”
He squeezed her hand. “Rianna, I am king. That is the least of what I can do.”
* * *
“WHAT’S your game?” Rianna demanded of Marlen, later that night in their garden spot. “I know you have one. You need to include me in these plans. As it is, I only caught on at the last moment.”
“And did splendidly,” he said. He pitched his voice soft and meek. “‘Can you do that?’”
She punched his arm. “Shut up.”
“Once you said that, he had to prove he’s king. Especially to you. What have you done to the man, Rianna Gelvan?”
“Don’t change the subject. What’s your game?”
He sighed. “Nothing so complicated. I thought a change of scene, an … isolation of the king from his usual surroundings … might make it easier to obtain what we need. There’s no reason to tell you more. I don’t want you involved.”
“That’s idiotic,” she said. “I’m close to him. You need me.”
“You’re close to him,” Marlen said. “Exactly. You’re the first they’d suspect.”
* * *
THE next day was one of preparations. Rianna was commanded to pack her things. Until then, she had not considered that she might have been excluded from the journey. Elissan Diar had decided to leave most of the court behind. There would be only his most intimate circle.
But Rianna had known all along that she would not be excluded. Whisking her off like this—it was, if not the main appeal of the expedition for the king, certainly among its attractions. She tried not to think about the possible implications of that as she packed clothes in a small trunk. They would be away only a few days. There was too much work to be done for more. Elissan Diar was not the sort of king to shirk his duties … a trait that under different circumstances she might have admired.
Sitting back on her heels with folded clothes clasped to her chest as she bent over the open trunk, Rianna recalled the previous night. How after it had been decided that they were to go away, the king’s mood had elevated, become expansive. He had been of a pleasant mien before, but with the sudden decision to embark on a royal hunt became almost giddy. She thought she saw him strive to contain it as best he could. He had continued drinking, bantering with the men, but she saw the change.
This was a man who reveled in being king. Who imagined himself born to it. This she already knew. She observed that even in the hall where they sat and bantered, the primary décor was tapestries that depicted a hunt. Lords and l
adies ahorse in fine apparel, swords or falcons borne aloft. One of the noblest of royal traditions. And now Elissan Diar would, for the first time since his ascension to the throne, be a part of it. He was on the cusp of history, about to be enfolded in a bright narrative that would someday be immortalized in art and song. She watched his flushed face and thought surely some variation of this was what passed through his mind.
Rianna also anticipated where his exuberance might lead, despite his resolutions about their “experiment.” She had excused herself early, pleading sudden tiredness. To his credit, Elissan did not look disappointed—only concerned. “You must rest,” he said immediately. “And let me know if the slightest thing is wrong—I will send for the physician.”
Rianna had, of course, not gone to sleep at all. She had slipped out to the garden to meet with Marlen, who was exasperating as ever. He thought to exclude her from his plans. As if that were his prerogative. It was reminiscent of the way men had treated her throughout her life.
Only Ned Alterra had grown into the understanding, with time, that there was nothing crueler than attempting to shield her from her own life. That she had been used, tampered with, because of protections—not in spite of them.
Rianna had been the one to kill Rayen Amaristoth while Ned held him fast. He could have protected her, delivered the fatal wound himself. But he didn’t.
Kneeling on the floor of her room, Rianna drew in her breath. But she didn’t weep. She hadn’t done that even when news of his treachery had come. She raised herself to her feet, beat her skirts with closed fists to shake out the dust.
Out of the corner of her eye, as Rianna approached her dressing table, she glimpsed a flash of silver. But when she turned she saw only the familiar small room, its spare furnishings and narrow bed.
* * *
THEIR departure the next day had the feel of a prank, as if they were children giving their tutor the slip. The plan was to depart the city unnoticed. Sendara Diar, Rianna, and the Fool would ride in an unmarked carriage. The men would attire themselves simply. Elissan didn’t want to draw attention.
The two women were packed into the carriage, hoods drawn up. It was daybreak, still dark, and cold. It would be milder in the south, despite that it was only a day’s journey. In another life, Rianna and her father had made that journey from Tamryllin in autumn each year, to the estate where he grew olives and kept a vineyard.
For years Master Gelvan had taken pride in the modest output of his estate. Under the original eastern name of his ancestors, Gelvana, he bottled oil and wine and sold it in the outlying villages. The name was a point of honor. Galicians in times past could never have hoped to own a vineyard, turning the blood of centuries’ torment into wine.
As she followed the princess to the carriage, Rianna stole a glance at the men. They stood alongside their horses, talking. From their gestures, it looked like the conversation had something to do with stirrups. Marlen appeared at ease. He was among his own. More than she would ever be with such men.
Etherell Lyr appeared at ease, yet there was something on edge about him. She wondered if Marlen needed to be warned about Etherell, or if he knew. Surely men trained in violence—which accounted for all men of rank—could sense that among themselves. Not hostility, exactly, but its potential.
Once inside the carriage, Rianna braced for a different kind of hostility. She’d be expected accompany Sendara Diar with no other women to diffuse the tension. She felt momentary resentment toward Elissan for not foreseeing how uncomfortable that would be.
She is still a woman, he’d said. From his point of view, the two women could resolve the matter among themselves. Their concerns a world of domestic tedium unto itself.
Sendara sat in the carriage with her needlework in a drawstring bag beside her. She was staring out the window, even though they had not begun to move. Nothing to see from here but the castle courtyard and a dreary sky.
When the Fool entered the carriage—or was pushed into it—he looked flustered. Rianna tugged firmly at his cloak so he would sit beside her, and not Sendara. It will be a long ride, she thought.
The Fool was silent. His cheeks were sunken, eyes glazed. Without his usual prattle or penchant for odd dances, he looked what he was—a boy. Rumor was he had been an ordinary student at the Academy before he became one of the Chosen. That involvement with magic had made him insane.
Seeing his young, tired face in the early morning, Rianna felt a stab of self-reproach. She had failed to see Syme for what he was. Like the rest of this court—these people she despised—she had looked upon him as a thing, a creature of the king; the poor, crazed Fool.
The mind that is broken is receptive, Elissan had said. At the time, Rianna had thought nothing of it. Removed from the presence of the golden king, she saw how callous it was.
Distance could make things clear. It was useful that way, and cruel.
Rianna watched from the window as the carriage began to roll through the city streets. Day had begun to lighten the sky. She had not been out of the castle grounds in so long. They had departed through the back way, not out into the square where they would have been spotted. Rianna put her head out the window, to take in—as well as she could—a view of the brightening sky. She loved the smell of wet leaves from the trees that lined the streets. She even loved the rank odors of the city, gutter filth and sweat, that peppered her nose as they rolled past.
“Will you ride with the hunt?” she asked Sendara, turning from the window. Some way of making conversation. She wanted Sendara to know they could put bad feeling aside, if the girl was willing.
“No.” Sendara sounded sullen. But at least she’d answered.
“I don’t plan to, either,” said Rianna, hands in her lap. “The men will have their pastime. And we will eat.”
Sendara said suddenly, “I didn’t want to come.” Sounding near to tears. “Oh stop looking at me.”
Rianna obediently averted her eyes. She thought of what she might say, but as was often the case with Sendara, decided it was not worth the risk. The girl hadn’t touched her breakfast, had been staring at the back of her intended until she was urged into the carriage. He had not bid her a good morning, nor even seemed to know she was there.
It seemed wise to avoid a silence. “We do as men bid,” said Rianna. “We go where they have us go. It is no easy thing to be a woman, Sendara Diar. Not even a princess.”
“You wouldn’t know.”
“I was never a princess,” Rianna acceded. “It’s true. But when I was not much older than you, I was sought after. Most would have thought there was no one luckier in the world. I had my pick of men. It took me a while to understand it was the only choice I had.”
Sendara looked stricken. Then her face hardened. “Perhaps that was true of you,” she said. “And if that’s so, I am sorry for you. But I have more choice than that. I will be a Seer. The first woman to become one.”
“There is one other,” said Rianna mildly. “You could do worse than be like her.”
“Does my father know of your admiration for a traitor?”
Rianna shrugged. “You might tell him,” she said. “But since he was not king when Lin Amaristoth was Court Poet, I can’t see how she betrayed his rule.”
Suddenly Syme spoke. Though it was more a mutter, to himself. “The white queen.”
There it was again. Rianna was sharp. “What do you mean? Syme. Who is she?”
The Fool curled in on himself, as if she’d attacked. Began to sway this way and that, and sing softly to himself. “She comes, she comes, she comes.”
“I can’t stand him,” Sendara said. “I don’t know why my father must have a Fool.”
“It is one of the accoutrements of kings,” said Rianna absently. Her mind was racing. She spoke to cover for that, as well as to steady herself. “Like your ladies-in-waiting, or this hunt, or the ornamental birds of the garden.”
“Those are shut away now.” Sendara’s lips tightened. “Ju
st as I am. Ever since we came to Tamryllin, I am shut away. Like an ornamental bird.”
Rianna stared a moment. Of course, it was true. The birds of the garden were kept indoors in the colder months. Something she ought to have remembered.
The Fool rocked and crooned as the carriage rolled, out of the city and into fields, hills, and soon the vineyards of the south.
CHAPTER
6
IT was raining when they arrived at the hunting lodge—a cold, driving torrent that stirred a green scent from the woods. The king himself handed the women out of the carriage. He was soaked but happy. The rain had caught them only at the end of the day’s ride; the rest of the time had seen bracing winds, through lands that perhaps it had begun to occur to him, more and more, were in his power. The wheat and barley fields, the green hills, the vineyards. All of it.
Now they were ensconced in forest. Though the residence was large, its blue-shuttered windows tall on the upper levels, it was not a palace. It could almost be a home.
Rianna shivered as she stood under the eaves for shelter. There was something about being here, away in this quiet, private place. Only one person she could trust, and even he … she had to remember what he was, too.
Marlen was avoiding looking at her. He and Etherell were talking companionably, as they must have done for much of the ride.
By the time the royal party went inside to be welcomed by the household staff, their clothes were sopping. The first order of business, then, was for the servants to heat water for baths. For the first time, Rianna found herself waited upon as if she were a person of importance. A girl of twelve or thirteen with a shy smile introduced herself as Alle, the ladies’ maid, and showed them upstairs. Rianna’s chamber here was larger than in Tamryllin, with great windows. Water so drenched their panes that she saw nothing more than a blur of green.
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