by Barb Hendee
As the duchess's entourage reached the nearest steps, Reine walked lightly up onto the stage. The other Stonewalkers lowered the litter at her approach. She paused briefly before Cinder-Shard with a respectful bow of her head.
Duchess Reine peeled back the shimmering cloth and looked down upon Hammer-Stag's face.
Wynn couldn't see her expression, but it seemed the duchess froze for a long moment. Then she pulled off one glove and placed her bare hand upon the thänæ's—gripping the ax. She didn't look up as Cinder-Shard drew near, though she nodded.
Reine's hand slipped off of Hammer-Stag's. As she pulled the cloth back over his body, the stonewalkers hoisted Hammer-Stag again. The duchess, the white-clad elf, and all three Weardas followed as the Stonewalkers carried the litter toward the far exit at the stage's rear.
Shade's whine startled Wynn in the silence.
The dog watched her with questioning blue eyes, as if sensing Wynn's uncertainty. Wynn dropped to her knees. Touching heads with Shade, Wynn passed every memory she could summon of the duchess back in Calm Seatt. Hopefully Shade would understand some part of why Wynn had to keep out of sight. As she finished, Chane lowered his head, glancing down at her.
"We have to go … now!" he whispered.
"I can't," she whispered back, rising behind him.
What could she do? The Stonewalkers were leaving, and Ore-Locks with them, but Duchess Reine was in their company. Until she parted ways with the Stonewalkers, Wynn couldn't risk being seen.
One of the white-vested shirvêsh on the stage held up both hands.
"Hammer-Stag is taken into stone," he called. "The bones of our world will be strengthened by him."
Everyone in the amphitheater became still. Many bowed their heads with closed eyes.
Chane mimicked this, yet looked at Wynn in obvious urgency.
"I can't be seen by the duchess," she whispered.
"Then we keep back until she leaves," he answered. "But we will lose all of them if we do not go now!"
It was a terrible option, but for as little as Wynn had uncovered so far, she could see no other choice. She finally nodded, ready to send Shade ahead of them. Shade would be far better at sensing whether they got too close, yet still be able to track the Stonewalkers.
Wynn turned carefully about, her fingers still cinched tightly into Chane's cloak. But when she reached down with her other hand …
Shade was gone.
Chapter 9
Duchess Reine Faunier-reskynna followed Master Cinder-Shard out of the stage's far exit. The passage widened enough for three, and Chuillyon and Captain Tristan stepped in beside her. Her other two Weardas guards, Danyel and Saln, came last, followed by five Stonewalkers bearing Hammer-Stag's remains.
No one spoke, and Reine kept her eyes on Cinder-Shard's large boots.
The official claim was that Hammer-Stag's heart had failed from strain, but other rumors had reached Reine at her inn in Sea-Side. Few details were forthcoming, and gossip and speculation varied too much. She inquired at a local clan's constabulary post but learned no more—other than that three more unexplained deaths—a Suman, and later two Northlanders—had been discovered less than a day before the thänæ's body was found.
This, as much as paying respects to an old savior, drove Reine to the final public ceremony. Now she dared not look back at the litter. Even so, she couldn't stop seeing Hammer-Stag's face in her mind—as he was now and when they'd last met, years ago.
Her husband had gone missing in a small sailing craft.
Hammer-Stag and two of his clan had brought Freädherich safely home. At that time, the thänæ's face had the mottled gray undertones of his people. Though venerable by human standards, he was of good age for a dwarf. He had strength and a spark of presence that could goad anyone out of worry and fear. When he sat with her and the royal family, assuring them that all was well with the young prince, his exaggeration still brought them momentary respite.
As the procession took another turn, Reine spotted a deep and broad arch halfway down the next passage's left wall. When they approached, she found wide double doors of iron set more than a yard deep. There was no latch or lock, no visible way to open them. Only a smooth seam showed where they separated. She looked about the archway for any mechanisms, and her attention caught briefly on the surrounding framing stones.
The vubrí of the five tribes and twenty-seven clans were engraved there. When she came to that of the Meerschaum clan, she turned to stare at Hammer-Stag's cloth-draped corpse.
When she'd stopped upon the stage, he'd looked ashen in death, and much too old. She couldn't be certain what it meant, not even after the deaths of the sages so recent in memory. A chill crept up her spine.
"Are you cold, my lady?" Chuillyon asked.
Reine looked up at his feathery eyebrows drawn together beneath his lined forehead.
"No," she whispered and closed her eyes.
She slipped back to one night, farther back than Hammer-Stag's kindness or even the first of her husband's disappearances, back to a happier time. It was a place in memory she often went that still connected her to a life of pretense and a reason for bearing loss.
The first time Reine met Freädherich—Frey—had been on her first visit to Calm Seatt, some seven years past… .
King Jacqui Amornon Faunier—or rather Uncle Jac—had been invited for another royal visit to Malourné. He was told to bring whomever he pleased among his family.
Reine's own parents had passed on long ago, and she'd inherited the duchy. It had never sat well with her. The weight of her station frustrated her, as did nobles sniffing about, circling in upon the unwed niece of a king. Uncle Jac hadn't once pressured her about this.
He politely dealt with all suitors, for any engagement to her had to be approved by him, and he would never consent unless she did. He handled Faunier's noble houses with great care whenever one sent a son, brother, or nephew seeking a royal alliance by marriage. Some were not so bad, but Reine had grown tired of being a desired acquisition.
And so, Uncle Jac insisted that his favorite niece—his only niece—join him on this visit with their nation's staunch ally. His wife, Evonné, would remain to oversee affairs of state, so he needed good feminine company, someone only half as wild as his two sons.
Reine didn't mind, nor was she fooled by his excuse. Uncle always had her happiness at heart, and she did love the freedom to be abroad at will. It was the way of the Faunier, horse people by ancestry.
She loved her homeland, especially the eastern granite steppes, where she could stand upon high stone ledges and look back across her native land. But a more distant excursion would take her beyond the reach of suitors, if only for a short while. She readily agreed to accompany her uncle for a chance to visit Calm Seatt.
The splendid city didn't disappoint her, and she couldn't help finding the third castle of the reskynna a marvel. However, upon meeting the royals of Malourné, Reine felt distinctly out of place.
They were too tall, too pale, too blond, seeming to float in a detached somber serenity rather than walk naturally upon the earth. They made her welcome enough, but even in their reserved hospitality, there was something not quite right in their aquamarine eyes.
Reine especially noted this on the first night.
A grand banquet was held in her uncle's honor. Along with him and her two cousins, Edelard and Felisien, Reine entered a lavish hall on one upper floor of the third castle. Three Weardas in red tabards stood to either side of the open white doors. And within the long and tall chamber, scores of people in evening regalia gathered in clusters.
They sipped from crystal goblets and polished pewter tankards while waiting to go down to dinner. The place was filled with the humming buzz of their low chatter—and a strange light.
Reine looked up to high iron chandeliers, three in all, along the domed roof. Each bore a host of oil-fed lanterns, their flames caged inside perfect glass balls in varied tints. They reminded her
of fishermen's floats she'd seen on a brief pass near the city's northern piers.
King Leofwin of Malourné and his wife Queen Muriel Witon, disengaged from two serious-faced men Reine would later know as Baron dweard Twynam and his son, Jason. The monarchs came straight for her uncle, ushering him off after friendly greetings passed between the families.
"There he is!" Edelard declared, pointing, and Felisien leaned over to look along his brother's arm. "Come on … I'll introduce you."
Both were off, forgetting their elder cousin. Only Felisien stopped halfway and glanced back. With surprise on his lean, rather pretty face, he swung his head with a smile, urging her to follow.
Reine just shook her head.
Felisien rolled his eyes. Prim as a peacock in his glistening long coat, he went after his brother, and Reine glanced about the room.
Not one other lady present was dressed in a split riding skirt over breeches and high polished boots. Oh, yes, her attire was made of satins and elven sheot'a, as fine and proper as any royal among her people. But it wasn't like theirs. Among the men, she saw a number of officers, some bearing arms, a sword or dagger—but not the women.
Not one wore a horse saber on her hip, like Reine, regardless that it hung from a belt gilded with silver rosettes. All these ladies in their floor-length gowns and robes left Reine feeling … foreign.
She would never let it show, but she didn't care to ride into this kind of wilderness. She tried tucking her saber a little farther behind her and then stopped. Why should she be embarrassed by who and what she was? She let the blade hang in plain sight.
Cousin Edelard had set in renewing his acquaintance with Prince Leäfrich reskynna, each dressed in their fine uniforms. They'd met before on exchanges between the nations' militaries. Felisien was pestering a young officer with his raffish banter. The younger dazzle-eyed sublieutenant looked almost as uncomfortable under such attention as Reine felt in the hall. Amid the men were three ladies. Reine had met the tallest briefly that morning.
Princess thelthryth reskynna, heir to Malourné's throne, stood close to her brother.
Reine knew the ways of court and how to deal with its society and ploys. But as much as the reskynna were hospitable in their aloof way, there had to be better and more interesting places to wait until dinner. She backed one step toward the doors and …
thelthryth turned her head on her long neck and stared straight at Reine with her family's deep aquamarine eyes. The princess's lithe form turned, sending a gentle sway through a white gauze overskirt atop her pastel sea green gown. She moved—flowed—around her brother toward the chamber hall's doors.
Reine quickly smiled, but under her breath she exhaled. "Oh, give me a horse!"
"Pardon, Highness?" a deep voice asked.
Startled, she glanced aside—then up—into the hard eyes of a Weardas by the doors.
Triple braids on his vestment marked him as an officer, though she didn't know enough to discern his rank. A tuft of dark beard stuck out upon his square jaw.
"Nothing," she answered, then cleared her throat, repeating with disinterest, "It is nothing."
He bowed with only his head.
Reine looked away—straight into the bodice of that sea green gown. She quickly raised her eyes, more and more, until they met the studying gaze of thelthryth.
"I've meant to ask," said the princess in an emotionless lilt, "do you know how to use that?"
Confusion stifled Reine until thelthryth's focus slowly lowered, and her attention fixed briefly on the saber's protruding hilt.
"Of course," Reine answered softly, on guard for some implied slight.
"Hopefully not on anyone here," returned thelthryth, "much as you might wish to cut yourself free of this event."
The barest empathetic smile broke thelthryth's tepid serenity.
"You would not be alone in such desire," she added, letting a brief but tired sigh escape. "Regardless of what station requires of us."
With that, thelthryth gently took Reine's arm and steered her into the crowded hall.
Lost in confusion and growing discomfort, Reine maintained dignified composure as many an eye turned their way, along with respectful nods at the passing of two ladies of royal blood.
"At least we might keep you from being hunted," thelthryth whispered. "Though I've heard you handle predators well enough."
Reine wasn't certain what to make of this. As direct heir to a throne, the princess would have had her share of suitors to fend off. Then they passed Prince Leäfrich's group.
He paused midsentence, though his companions didn't notice in their chatter. Leäfrich glanced at his sister, offering a slight nod of some covert agreement. Then he looked once toward the back of the long chamber.
A shadow of concern raced quickly across the tall prince's face.
Reine tried to follow his gaze. Wherever or whoever he had sought, there were too many people to pick out his target.
Around a cluster of self-amused debutantes, Reine spotted Uncle Jac with the king and queen of Malourné. He smiled at her, though it looked forced, veiling some unspoken worry. King Leofwin, hand-in-hand with Queen Muriel, looked to his daughter.
"Keeping our cousin well cared for?" he asked.
"Always, Father," thelthryth answered. "Like my very own."
Familial references were common respect for royalty of allied nations, but it left Reine unsettled—more so when King Leofwin glanced in the same direction that the prince had only moments before. Reine tried again to find their source of concern.
Queen Muriel whispered something in her husband's ear, too soft and low to catch. Leofwin slumped, hanging his head. His eyes clenched shut, and Muriel grasped her husband's hand in both of hers.
"Come," thelthryth urged. "Let us find a defensible spot with more room to breathe."
Reine was swept onward before she heard anything more.
What was happening here? And why had her uncle looked as concerned as the reskynna?
At the hall's rear, before a tall window of crystal clear panes, stood a fragile-looking young man, his back turned to everyone. He was dressed plainly but elegantly in a white shirt of billowing sleeves beneath a sea green brocade vest. All alone, he faced the outside world, and dangling locks of sandy blond hair hid any glimpse of his face. His shoulders bent forward under some unseen weight, his hands braced upon the sill.
Was this where all wayward glances had turned?
"Freädherich?" whispered thelthryth. "Could you keep our cousin company?"
Again that familial term.
It bothered Reine even more—especially as she stared at the younger prince's back. She wouldn't have recognized him as he was now, though she had met him earlier that day. He'd been silent then as well.
"I must see to late arrivals," thelthryth said, and still her youngest brother didn't turn.
Reine began to heat up with barely suppressed anger.
For all Uncle Jac's supposed understanding, was he now trying to make her suitor to some foreign prince? Or had the reskynna coerced him into this, so quickly executed by thelthryth?
Reine turned on her royal "cousin," ready to remove herself, even at the cost of insult—but she held her tongue.
The princess watched her brother with the same wounded concern as had the king and queen and Prince Leäfrich. Then her gaze wandered.
thelthryth stared intently out the window beyond Freädherich. Her fixed eyes turned glassy until she blinked suddenly. With a shudder, she pulled Reine back a step.
"Please," she whispered, "decorum's pressure might force him to speak with you."
With a final pained glance at Freädherich, thelthryth turned away, gliding back through the crowded room.
Reine was left alone with the young prince, but it only made her ire grow.
She wasn't about to be played, especially under her uncle's betrayal. No wonder he'd fended off suitors in their own land. He'd kept her like a prized purebred to barter for politi
cal gain. Why not just throw one of his sons at thelthryth and aim directly for the crown of Malourné?
No, that would be pointless. Edelard was already heir of Faunier, and Felisien … well, his numerous indiscretions leaned entirely in another direction.
Reine turned like a cornered fox and cast her spite across the room at Uncle Jac. But King Jacqui only lowered his head with firmly pressed lips, and then cocked it slightly toward Freädherich. All Reine saw in her uncle's face was more concern, and Queen Muriel watched her with frightful expectation.
Reine slowly turned about, frustrated as she gazed at Freädherich's back.
Something more was happening here, aside from an attempt to throw her at the young prince. Much as she wouldn't allow the latter, she stepped closer, coming around two paces off so as not to startle him.
Prince Freädherich was young, certainly a few years younger than she was. Shoulder-length sandy hair framed a long, pale face. His narrow nose looked slightly hooked, but nothing too severe or unappealing. The thin lips of his small mouth were parted, as if his jaw hung slack, and his eyes …
Those eerie aquamarine irises were locked unblinking into the distance outside.
His face was barely a hand's length from the window, and quick, shallow breaths briefly fogged the chilled panes.
"My apologies for the invasion," she said quietly. "This seems the quietest corner of the hall."
He didn't respond or turn from the window.
"I am Duchess Reine Faunier, if you remember," she added. "Except for my uncle and cousins, I'm … unacquainted with anyone here."
Freädherich blinked once. His head turned just a little toward her. His eyes turned last, so reluctant to relinquish the view.
"I don't know anyone but my family," he whispered.
Unlikely for a prince of the realm, Reine thought, unless he had purposely cloistered himself for many years.
His gaze touched hers for an instant before he turned back to the window. It was enough to fill her with a sudden shiver. Over the outer castle wall, she made out the full moon hanging high above the dwarves' distant mountain peninsula. It cast a shimmering road of light across the wide bay and out into the open ocean.
