Trickster's Queen

by Tamora Pierce

  Ulasim smiled at her as he might at a favorite niece. “If Lady Nuritin says you may,” he replied. Dove scowled at him, for the moment an ordinary girl deprived of an amusement, then flounced into the library. She knew that Nuritin would not allow her out of the house with a hundred guards, not so soon after the prison break.

  Aly watched her go. “You might want to put watchers on all the tunnels out of the grounds,” she suggested.

  “I shall,” Ulasim answered, “but Lady Dove is too wise to try it. Lady Sarai I would have to shackle to a post. Lucky for us that it takes until noon for Lady Sarai to wake up all the way.” He rested a hand on Aly's shoulder. “I received a communication this morning. It sits on your desk.”

  Aly, curious, went to see what had come. She found a grubby note, written by Nawat.

  I am busy but I did good on Tongkang. Now I am at Imahyn. There is war smoke almost everywhere we fly over. Our cousins the raka are mobbing the soldiers everywhere. The sparkly is for you.

  Aly looked. Beside the note was a small, many-colored piece of glittering rock. She held it in her hand as she reread the note, then kissed the paper and tucked it into her sash. She kept the stone in hand as she began to read her usual stack of reports.

  The duchess returned at noon. She found Nuritin, her daughters, their maids, Petranne, and Rihani in the courtyard, mending clothes or reading. All but Nuritin rose as Winnamine hurried toward them. Her face was bone white.

  “Aunt, Sarai, Dove, let's go to our sitting room. We will have lunch there, Boulaj, if you will tell Chenaol and the maids.” Rihani was already taking Petranne inside, though she had to stop so the girl could give her mother a kiss. At a nod from Nuritin, Dorilize gathered all of her things and left. Boulaj, too, went to execute her orders. Only Aly remained.

  “Are you still the god's messenger?” Winnamine asked.

  Aly was worried. The duchess was trembling from top to toe. “I have always been, Your Grace,” she replied, though she knew Winnamine thought she was Mithros's messenger, not Kyprioth's.

  “Then come with me,” said the duchess. She looked around the pool courtyard, distracted, then strode into the house, Aly trotting to keep up.

  Once inside the ladies' sitting room, they spoke of Lord Matfrid's birthday. It was simply a way to pass time. The day was already so hot that the duchess closed and locked the shutters to provide shadowy coolness. No one touched their food, though they continued to talk as the maids left. The duchess locked the door behind them.

  “Why does she remain?” demanded Nuritin, pointing a bony finger at Aly.

  “It's a long story, Aunt,” said Winnamine, taking a seat. She began to twist her handkerchief in her hands. “I haven't time to tell it at present. Just accept that I trust Aly as if she were family.”

  “Goddess bless, Winna, what did Imajane say to you?” demanded Sarai, resting a hand on her stepmother's arm. “You're shaking!”

  The others waited, their eyes on the duchess.

  “I met with the regents.” Winnamine spoke slowly. “In their personal quarters . . .” She looked up at them and took a deep breath. “They have noticed—they've been told—how much attention you girls receive from people in the street,” she said. “How they like to do things for you. They believe it is because you are half raka and yet close to the throne. They have made us a proposal. I said we need time to think. We have until the king's birthday.” She turned to Sarai. “The regents propose a marriage between you and Dunevon,” she explained. “The contracts are to be signed quickly, ‘to give the people confidence in the Crown,' Rubinyan told me. I pro-tested; I reminded them you were cousins. They reminded me you were second cousins, which is not as serious. There are precedents, in Carthaki, even in Kyprin history. The royal line of Siraj came from marriages between siblings or half siblings. They would ask you to move to the palace when the contract is signed, to convince the people of their sincerity. But they say it would bring peace and hope to the raka. And, when Dunevon comes of age, the Copper Isles would have a queen again.”

  Nuritin struggled with a lifetime of caution and lost. “Are they mad?”

  “They are worried,” said Winnamine, without taking her eyes from her stepdaughter. “The country must seem unstable, between the rebellions on the other islands and the escape from Kanodang. I think they want more support in case Nomru rebels. They know they will have serious problems if he does so, but if they can set your marriage against that, they might be able to preserve order.”

  “You approve?” Sarai asked, her voice tiny.

  “I understand their reasons. I did not say I approve.” Winnamine grasped Sarai's arm. “I can advise you, but the choice must be yours,” she told Sarai earnestly. “Marriage to a child is no guarantee of stability. It does not comfort me that Imajane refers to him as ‘the brat.' Rubinyan is an honorable man, and he loved your father. That does not mean he would hesitate to take the throne himself, if he thought the nation required a strong adult king.”

  “I cannot imagine that Imajane has ever forgotten that under the old laws of the country, she would have inherited when Hazarin died,” Nuritin added. “She would have her own reasons to advise Rubinyan that the country would be stronger with them on the throne.”

  “Don't give them an answer yet,” Dove advised. “Let them think you're considering it, but you can't decide. Find reasons to put them off until after the king's birthday—that's two weeks from now. They offer the Crown like a bauble—play with it, and with them.”

  “Buy time,” Nuritin advised, nodding. “Dove is right. Promise nothing.”

  “Things change so fast,” Dove went on. “Look at just this last week. And Sarai, once they get you in the Gray Palace, you won't ever be able to escape.”

  “But you all think I should do it,” whispered Sarai.

  “We didn't say that,” Winnamine told her. “We present our ideas, and you consider them. You make the choice.” She looked up at Aly, eyes pleading. “What do you say?”

  Aly admired the regents' boldness. There were so many different ways this plan could be changed. It gave them a hundred options, some of which might even work. At the very least, if Sarai accepted, the people might well think it was a sign that a raka queen would reign again. Plenty of queens had seized power from much younger kings, and not just in the Isles or Carthak.

  “I can say nothing, Your Grace,” Aly remarked slowly. “I have no guidance in this.”

  “What?” demanded Nuritin with a frown.

  “We'll explain later,” Dove said hurriedly. “Sarai, think. We can use this. There are so many ways to manage it. All you have to do is pretend.”

  Sarai got to her feet. “I need time,” she said quietly, not looking at them. “At least give me until after Grandfather's birthday to give you my decision. And ask them to wait until after the king's birthday for a reply, please.” She looked at the duchess. “You must see that I can't possibly answer, not right away. Who would have imagined they'd make such an offer? I'll tell you by the end of the week.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “After we come home from Grandfather's,” Sarai told them. “I promise I won't discuss it with anyone but you.” She left the room.

  The raka conspirators were not happy when Aly and Dove told them of the regents' latest move. Even Ulasim lost his temper and shouted that the raka would fight in the streets before they allowed such a thing. It took Dove and Aly hours to calm them down. It was not official, the girls reminded the conspirators. It might never be official. All anyone could do until she reached her decision was to keep the rebellion going forward. They were due to leave for the three-day celebration of Matfrid's sixtieth birthday. Sarai wouldn't voice a decision until they returned.

  “Things could change,” Dove and Aly said over and over. “Things are changing already.”

  Two days later word came of a fresh uprising on Ikang Isle. The Crown sent a division of soldiers to crush it. Nawat wrote that he would go there with his cr
ows and see what they might do. To Aly he sent a griffin feather. She kept it on her desk. She also reminded herself to tell the truth in her workroom, in case one feather had the same effect as an entire griffin, in whose vicinity no one could lie.

  That night Aly was just going to sleep when a familiar, glowing shape knelt beside her pallet. Junai and Dove slept on, oblivious to Kyprioth's blaze in this form.

  “I have an idea,” he told Aly, “something to distract my brother and sister for a time. They really shouldn't have left their sun shield and moon shield in the Divine Realms, where some dishonest person might stumble across them.”

  “Perhaps they thought the Divine Realms wouldn't have that many dishonest people running about,” Aly said with a yawn. It seemed Dove and Junai couldn't hear her, either. If they could, Junai would have been on her feet with weapons in her hands. “Except for you, of course.”

  “You wrong me,” Kyprioth said in hurt tones, pressing a bright hand to the glowing area that was roughly the spot where a heart might be. “I am crushed. You think me no more than a low creature, and I a god. See what you get for your Midwinter's present from me! Besides, they would know I'd been there. I did, however, find myself a most enterprising young thief among the horse nomads east of Port Udayapur. He'll collect the shields if I guide him. There's an elemental who owes my beloved brother an ill turn or two. She will hide them well.”

  Aly yawned again. “Is this going to be a legend, or a hero tale, or something?”

  “It's a diversion,” said Kyprioth. “My brother and sister are about to return from the other side of the world. This will keep them busy for a time, though not forever. Tell Sarai that I have said she will never marry any Rittevon or Jimajen.”

  “If I get the chance,” Aly said. “She's always with her friends, or her maids, or the family. And I think she ought to at least pretend she'll do it for the moment. . . .”

  Kyprioth vanished.

  “I've known mayflies better able to pay attention,” Aly mumbled as her eyes closed.

  The next morning the servants packed for the three-day cele-bration of Matfrid Fonfala's birthday, at his estates on the other side of the harbor's southern ridge. All of the Balitangs were going, which meant trunk after trunk went into the wagons.

  Boulaj nearly went mad as Sarai dithered over what she would take. “She gets fussier every day,” Boulaj confided, packing nearly everything Sarai owned. “And when she doesn't keep changing her mind about what to bring, she broods. I'm always relieved when her friends come—let them put up with her moods for an afternoon!”

  Aly was preoccupied with a series of reports she had gotten about troop and ship numbers around the capital. She only nodded in response to Boulaj's complaint.

  Dove shook her head. “It's this marriage thing,” she told Boulaj. “She doesn't seem to realize that it's not real until the vows have been made. I keep telling her, there's no reason why she can't say yes and hold them off until something happens, but she's not listening to me.” She smiled wryly. “Not a very good omen of my influence with her as a counselor when the time comes.”

  All three of them knew what “the time” was.

  “She'll calm down,” Aly murmured. “She's not a fool.”

  The afternoon was perfect for riding, the recent heat broken in a storm that had lasted all night. For once the air was warm and only slightly humid. The sole blot on the ride was the soldiers at various checkpoints who searched their wagons three times before they had left the city. Sarai was rude, despite warnings from Winnamine and Dove. It took a flat order from Fesgao to silence her.

  Sarai remained quiet all the way to the Fonfala estate. There they caught up to another party, including Ferdy and Zaimid Hetnim, who charmed her out of her gloom. At supper, when the political situation came up, Zaimid found a way to distract Sarai from the conversation. He had her laughing by the time the second course was served.

  “If he'll wait till I'm older, I'll marry him,” Dove told Aly as she brushed her hair before bedtime. “We could use allies in Carthak, especially the emperor's personal physician.”

  Aly frowned. “Do you know, I think you're right,” she said, considering it. “It won't do for Sarai—her husband should be from the Isles, and the queen can't live in another country. But I wouldn't sneeze at a Carthaki alliance.”

  The next day the celebration began at noon. Fonfala servants directed their guests to the areas of the estate they would most enjoy. For the younger family members, the Fonfalas had decorated the old nursery with enough toys to tempt the most fretful child. The doors at the side of the formal sitting room were open and tables were set on the veranda, perfect for the older adults. The library was available for the more studiously inclined. Dove settled in there with a chessboard and Baron Engan, though by midafternoon she had a score of other opponents, including her aunt Nuritin. Aly thought it funny that Dove had as many chess opponents as Sarai did dance partners.

  Winnamine, her brothers and sisters from the family holdings on Malubesang, and Sarai and her companions went riding. They took their lunch together in a grassy clearing beside a small waterfall. Afterward they had an archery contest and a riding contest. Everyone changed clothes for supper, then again for the dancing. After she had set the last hairpin in Sarai's braided and curled hair, Boulaj came to Aly. She was sweating.

  “Rihani, Dorilize, and Pembery are ill. So am I,” she told Aly, sitting on Dove's bed. “I'm afraid the chicken sambal may have been off.”

  Aly had not had the popular dish at the servants' supper. She had tried sambal once and avoided the spicy dish on principle ever since. She had gotten accustomed to Kyprin spices, she liked to say, but never that accustomed. She told Boulaj, “I keep saying that stuff will kill you.”

  Boulaj gave her a tight smile. “No, but at least this time it makes it difficult to stray far from the privy. I should have listened to Lady Sarai—she said she thought it tasted odd. Can you look after Her Grace, Lady Nuritin, and Lady Sarai as well as Lady Dove? Our ladies are all dressed. We could manage that much, at least.”

  Aly smiled. “Go to bed. I think I can tend our ladies on my own for one night. It's not like they come rushing in to fix their clothes over and over.” The Balitang ladies were the most self-sufficient noblewomen Aly had ever met.

  “Gods bless you,” said Boulaj gratefully. “Excuse me.” She left.

  Aly escorted the ladies to the ballroom. Dove headed for a chair next to Nuritin and Baron Engan and was welcomed into their conversation. Sarai and her female friends sat with the young men. Winnamine found a chair with the mothers.

  Aly strolled into the gallery where the servants could observe their masters. Once she had explained the absence of Pembery, Dorilize, and Boulaj, she took up a position by the carved screen through which she could see the ballroom. For the first time in months she felt a pang of envy as she watched Sarai, glorious in a white lawn kirtle and doubled silk ivory gown, come down the lines of dancers with a different young man for every dance. Once that might have been Aly herself.

  But the colors would have been different, she told herself firmly. Less . . . insipid.

  She knew that was jealousy whispering in her ear. She couldn't help it, any more than she could help thinking how she and Nawat would look, properly dressed, going through the steps. Nawat danced beautifully, she had found out at Midwinter at Tanair.

  A pang shot through her; her eyes burned slightly. First I start missing his kisses, then I miss him at a party where we wouldn't be allowed to dance anyway. What's wrong with me? she asked herself. She did not try to answer. Instead she tried to pick out who among the young noblemen might be a good partner, if she were allowed to dance. The only one she liked was Zaimid. He was handsome, graceful, clever, and he had a good heart. But he lacks something, Aly decided. Directness, perhaps. An odd sense of humor. He would never send a girl a shiny rock or a griffin feather as a token.

  She was getting up to check her ladies again when
brightness—the white-hot blaze of godhood—struck her eyes. She clapped her hands to them and retreated, then did complex things with her Sight, making herself better able to see through that fire. Had Kyprioth returned?

  “Aly?” asked a Fonfala maid. “Are you all right?”

  “Dust in my eye,” Aly replied, blinking. “Yes, that's better.” She looked up.

  The source of the fire was just vanishing through the door to the hall outside. Aly slid between the other servants and stepped outside. An old brown-skinned woman in a black and orange headcloth and sarong hobbled away from Aly, a tray in her bony hands, godhood shimmering around her. Aly called, “Grandmother, wait.”

  The old woman glanced at her. She grinned, the essence of mischief in her expression. Then she turned the corner, moving more quickly than Aly would have expected of someone of her age.

  “Uh-oh,” Trick whispered. “Gods not good. Gods sly.”

  “I know,” Aly replied softly. “But we need to know what brings a god here.” She followed, tracking the old goddess by her glowing footprints.

  She had a very bad feeling about this. Might this be the Great Mother Goddess, who had returned to the Isles in her aspect as the Crone? Aly prayed it was not as she went on into the gardens. If the Goddess had come, she would uncover Kyprioth's plans. The war between the Great Gods would start with Kyprioth still unprepared.

  Finally Aly saw her quarry on a bench near the estate's temple. Aly adjusted her Sight to allow for the dark as the woman shook off her headcloth. Only gray stubble covered her head. There was a scarred socket where one of her eyes had been. When she grinned, Aly saw gaps in her teeth.

  “Bad. Wily. Careful.” That was Secret, quavering from Aly's shoulder.

  The goddess squinted at Aly. “Ah,” she said in a cheerful voice. “You've little tattlers on your shoulders. How sweet. They will be silent for the time being.” She pointed: white light swarmed over Aly. Trick and Secret immediately went still. Worried, Aly touched them. Their bodies in her necklace were warm, but she felt no heads.