Trickster's Queen

by Tamora Pierce

  “They're alive,” the goddess assured her. “I just don't want them meddling.”

  And I don't need you meddling, Aly thought, though she said “Good evening” politely. From long acquaintance with her mother and her Aunt Daine, she knew it was wisest to be polite to strange gods. “I never thought the Fonfalas were so remarkable that they might draw a god to their house.”

  “But I like playing servant, dearie, just like you,” the goddess told her. “People think you're furniture. They hardly notice. You can have all kinds of fun without them realizing who's doing it, but you already know that. I love to see their little lives collapse in flames. It's even more amusing when they start blaming each other as things go wrong.”

  Goose bumps crept over Aly. There was something familiar about this goddess. “Are you a raka god?” she asked, still cautious.

  “Gracious, no. Don't they have enough troubles with my cousin mucking about? Just be thankful his sister the Jaguar Goddess is locked up, and all the others are small gods,” the goddess told Aly. She snatched at the air, grabbed a firefly, then popped it into her mouth. “Mmm, I like these. I wonder if I could get some at home.”

  Aly remembered where she'd heard of a goddess much like this one. Daine had told her about the Carthakis' quirky patron goddess. “You're the Graveyard Hag.”

  The goddess beamed at her, revealing all of seven teeth. “Aren't you the clever boots,” she said with pleasure. “I'd heard that you were, but ‘Count on it,' I told Gainel—that's the Dream King to you, dearie. ‘Count on it,' I told him, ‘they're always said to be quick, but it turns out to be all smoke.' No,” she cautioned as Aly took a step back. “Don't run off. That wouldn't be polite, and I'm not done with you.”

  Aly could not move her foot—either foot, for that matter. Or her hips. Or her arms. She tried to open her mouth to scream and failed.

  The goddess nodded. “Every bit as clever as my cousin says. Mind, I don't want to ruin Kyprioth's game. I just want to tweak it a little. Besides, I'm doing a favor for one of my own lads. Such a good one, he is. He built me a shrine—paid for it with his own money, too! One good turn deserves another, and he's in love.”

  Aly released the breath she'd meant to use to scream through her nose. Suddenly her mouth could move again. She could talk, but she also knew better than to try to call out. “May I ask questions?” she inquired. “Since I'm going to be here for a time?”

  The Hag chuckled. “Oh, you are a treat. Well brought-up, even with a mother who's a violent bumpkin.”

  Aly ignored the insult. Her mother had been called worse things. “This worshipper must be very devoted, to bring you all the way here. Surely it would be easier to favor him at home. Unless you have other business?” She kept her voice light and sweet.

  “It's more personal satisfaction than business,” replied the Hag. “Normally I could give duckmole's dung about the Isles, but Kyprioth is annoying even for a god. He gloats. He's been saying we lesser tricksters couldn't fool Mithros and the Goddess . . . as if we don't know what we're doing. He deserves a lesson.” She seized another firefly. “And I can do my worshipper a favor while I'm at it.”

  Aly raised an eyebrow.

  The Hag grinned. “Besides, I owe Kyprioth. He's gotten the better of me twice. I mean to repay him.”

  Aly picked through the Hag's words. Aunt Daine said gods talk in riddles, she grumbled to herself.

  The Hag replied aloud. “Naturally,” she said with glee. “You mortals are so adorable with your faces all screwed up when you're trying to think.”

  Carthaki, Aly thought, shooting a glare at the Hag. A worshipper from there . . . “Zaimid Hetnim?” she asked.

  The Hag chortled. “Bright girl.” She stood, dusting off her hands. “By the time you can free yourself, my boy will have his heart's desire, Kyprioth will have his comeuppance, and you will have some work to do.” Wriggling her fingers in a mockery of a wave, she vanished.

  Aly didn't like it, but there was nothing she could do. The Graveyard Hag had sealed her lips. Her mind raced frantically. Stupid! she told herself over and over. Stupid, over-confident, blind . . . Why did I not see it coming with Sarai and Zaimid? Sarai's not good at hiding how she feels. I've been trained to spot intrigue in every form! But no, I was smug about Topabaw and creating more spies. And while I was being so festering clever, a girl in love cooked something up right under my nose!

  She berated herself without mercy, remembering clues that should have been obvious, including Sarai's conviction that nothing in the Isles would ever change for the better. She remembered how quiet Sarai had been after Imajane's offer of marriage to the boy king. Despite everything her advisors told her, Sarai had appeared convinced that she would have to marry her royal cousin.

  At last the spell that locked Aly into place began to thaw, like ice on a sunlit pond. It faded bit by bit, driving Aly half insane as she waited. Somewhere, she knew, the Graveyard Hag was enjoying her frustration. At last she was free.

  “This bad?” asked Trick, once he and Secret were also able to move again. They settled back into their bead necklace shapes, with the two connecting medallions that were their heads on each of Aly's shoulders.

  “It's not good,” Aly told the darkings. “And I am an idiot.” She didn't even bother with the servants' gallery, but ran into the ballroom itself. When she stumbled to a halt at the room's center, everyone turned to stare. Aly ignored them, scanning every face in the room. Sarai and Zaimid were not there.

  She ran into the servants' gallery. Zaimid's attendant was gone. She told herself not to panic yet, then bolted outside. As the Fonfalas' daughter, the duchess had been given her own pavilion separate from the main house, where she and her stepdaughters slept with their attendants. Petranne and Elsren shared the nursery in the main house with the other children. Aly knew that Boulaj, Pembery, and Dorilize would be in the household infirmary, wherever that was.

  She raced to the duchess's pavilion. Inside, a lamp was provided for the Balitang ladies' return. In the flickering light it cast, Aly could see that Sarai's trunk—the one into which the vexed Boulaj had simply thrown all her mistress's personal items as Sarai kept changing her mind—was gone. Moreover, there was a folded and sealed document on the duchess's bed. Aly went to look at it. The note was addressed, in Sarai's curling writing, to Winna and Dove.

  Aly was sitting on the pavilion steps when the duchess arrived. “Aly, what's going on?” she asked, her sweet, deep voice concerned. “Papa said you burst into the ballroom looking as if the dead marched on your spine. . . .”

  Aly held out the letter Sarai had left.

  “Oh, no,” said Winnamine. She hurried into the pavilion without taking the letter. Aly stayed where she was.

  Soon more footsteps slapped the flagstone path. This time it was Dove. “Aly, have you seen Sarai? Ferdy Tomang is searching all through the main house, and he's saying he'll kill Zaimid or Druce or Vedec if they've sneaked away with her—” She cut herself off abruptly. “Aly?”

  Winnamine walked onto the steps and sat next to Aly. “She left a letter for us,” she told Dove, and broke the seal. Using the light from the torches that marked the pavilion's entrance, she read the letter to the girls in a leaden voice.

  “Dearest Winna and Dove,

  “I can only beg your forgiveness a thousand times for running away like this.”

  Dove sat in the walkway with a thump, ignoring the damage to her clothes.

  “I am so very sorry. By the time you read this Zaimid and I will be sailing for Carthak. There is a ship waiting for us at Moriji Cove.”

  The cove lay five miles downhill from the estate. It was a favored raka smuggling port because it was not readily visible.

  The duchess continued.

  “I can no longer watch as good people are taxed into poverty, jailed, beaten, or killed. It makes me sick, the never-ending executions, the despair, and the fear. Neither will I marry a boy thirteen years younger than me, to be a
puppet for the regents. I know you cannot fight them and win, and once they have won, I would not give a copper's chance in a volcano for Dunevon or for me to live to old age.

  “Please tell Dorilize, Pembery, Boulaj, Rihani, and Junai that I am sorry I made them sick. The herbs will wear off by dawn. I knew they would stop me.

  “I would have done none of this if I were not truly, deeply in love. Zaimid is kind and gentle. When people are hurt, he helps them. We can't bear to be parted. And neither of us can stand to see more people hurt where we can do so little. With him I can have the life I want, raising horses and our children, and helping him to build hospitals when he takes his post as the emperor's healer. Like me, he begs your forgiveness for our stealing away. I will write more when we are settled. Please try to understand, I did not do this on impulse. I have known I loved him for some weeks. The thought of marrying a child cousin was bad in itself, but it was so much worse when I compared it to marriage with Zaimid.

  “I love both you so much, and Elsren and Petranne, too. I hope that you will wish me well. Zaimid has already said that our first boy will be named Mequen.

  “Your devoted Sarai”

  13

  A CHANGE OF PLANS

  After hearing Sarai's letter no one had anything to say. They just sat in silent gloom on the steps.

  Finally Nuritin came to see where they were. “What is it?” she asked sharply when she saw their faces. Mutely, Winnamine handed the letter to her.

  While Nuritin read, Aly walked around the guesthouse to inspect it for listening spells. She found only a number of strong charms to keep any listening spell from taking hold there. There were similar protections all over the Fonfala buildings and grounds. The Fonfalas, she decided, loved their privacy. When she finished her search, she stopped herself from going to tell the ladies it was safe to speak here. She had been too overconfident for too long. Carefully Aly went over the place again. She even sent the darkings under the house to check there. When they returned to report they had found nothing, Aly then went back to find the ladies.

  “There are no listening spells here that I could see,” she told them numbly, sitting next to Dove. “And no spies.”

  Nuritin, rereading the letter, looked up with a frown. “What makes you certain of that?” she demanded sharply.

  “She knows, Aunt,” Winnamine replied, weariness in her voice and face.

  “Hmph,” Nuritin said, still glaring at the seated Aly. Aly propped her chin on her hand and returned the old lady's look. She was tired and depressed. She was not about to stand because Nuritin thought her a servant. It was the older woman who looked away.

  “Silly chit,” Nuritin commented, giving the letter back to the duchess. “She obviously didn't believe that she could keep Imajane at bay on this marriage.” Nuritin looked at Dove. “You will not make that mistake, though, will you?”

  Dove blinked at her, startled. “Will the regents offer it to me? They're probably going to think Sarai as good as slapped their faces, doing this. I'm thinking maybe we should run for Tanair before they arrest us all.”

  “They dare not,” Nuritin told her flatly. “You girls are too popular. Imajane admitted as much when she offered the marriage to Sarai in the first place. She needs to offer it to you, and you must do as we advised Sarai.” Nuritin's abrupt smile was thin and frosty. “You're vexed that she didn't tell you,” she added, glancing at Dove and Winnamine. “She did it to me, too, and I was as much her chaperon as anyone. She planned this under our very noses, the minx. She hid her interest in the Carthaki by including him with all her young men. She was good at slipping off for private assignations before you went to Tanair. Obviously she got better at it.”

  Aly, thinking of the raka and what this would do to them, shifted impatiently. It drew Nuritin's attention.

  “And she gave you the slip, watchful as you are,” Nuritin said, that smile razor sharp. “That must gall you.” When Aly, Dove, and Winnamine all stared at her, Nuritin rolled her eyes. “Even apart from mysterious hints about this one being more than just a maid, I've noticed how very attentive she is. I don't know what she's up to, and I don't want to. When I must know, I'm sure one of you will tell me. For the time being, it's important that we deal with this, first here and then at home. The regents will have the news by the time we get there, if that new spymaster knows the least bit about what he does. It will still be important to let them know in person. They will be outraged for a day or two, and then they will make their offer to our Dove. Mope about here if you like, but I am going to bed, and I advise you to do the same. There is nothing more to be done tonight.” She looked at Aly. “Since Sarai made certain that Dorilize would be in no condition to stop her, I require you to undress me.” Standing, she shook out her skirts and marched inside.

  Aly stared back at her with admiration. “I want to be her when I grow up,” she murmured.

  “Let's work on growing up first,” Dove replied, her voice and face glum. “Then you can be anyone you like.”

  “Nuritin is right,” said Winnamine, exhaustion in her voice. There were tears rolling down her cheeks. She appeared not to notice them. “It's too late to do anything but sleep.”

  Aly passed a handkerchief to her. When the duchess stared at it, not understanding, Dove touched her cheek. Winnamine angrily swiped her eyes. “I thought she trusted us,” she whispered. “I thought she trusted me.”

  “Except that you would have asked her to do her duty by her family and country,” Dove said gently, her own eyes full. She did not cry, though. “You would have made her feel she was selfish to want her own freedom and happiness when others depend on her for so much. And you would be right. She knew that, too. So she ran away.”

  “Girl!” an imperious voice called from inside the house. Aly scrambled to her feet and went to assist Nuritin, thinking that Dove had the right of it. As she prepared all three ladies for bed, she berated herself. She had been overconfident for the last time, she hoped. She would pay for that. Only she and Dove knew that the raka and Kyprioth were not going to take Sarai's elopement well.

  The duchess asked her to let the family know that Sarai, too, had felt unwell and had left the party early. Aly returned after delivering her message, but she did not sleep. Her mother had a rich vocabulary of curses, as did her father. Aly used all of those words first on herself, then on Sarai and Zaimid. Trick and Secret, understanding that she needed to think, kept quiet, though they hummed gently against her skin, offering comfort.

  When she ran out of bad words, Aly decided that the joke was on her. Only a year before, she might have helped Sarai to marry her love rather than be trapped in a political life. At the very least, she would have loved Sarai's boldness. Aly's mother had done as Sarai had, chosen the life she wanted over the life that was expected of her. My, how I've changed, Aly thought ruefully. These days I care about duty to those who look to one to lead. These days I care less about fun and more about work. Though at least my work is fun.

  Shaking her head, she began to prepare for the consequences of this night. Kyprioth had not appeared, which meant that he was still arranging for the theft of the sun and the moon shields. She would need all her arguments marshaled when the god returned, and when they brought the news to the raka conspirators. She wondered if the conspiracy wasn't to blame for not telling Sarai what they intended. Then Aly shook her head. If Sarai had known of their plans, she would have fled all the sooner.

  The next morning Winnamine sent Aly for the ladies' maids. They had recovered, but they could tell that something wasn't right. “It's for Her Grace to tell you,” Aly said, leading them to the duchess.

  As they helped their mistresses dress for the day, Winnamine explained what Sarai had done. For a moment, hardy Boulaj looked as if she might faint.

  “She dosed you,” Dove said quickly. “She dosed all of you. She said so in her letter.”

  “She must have put it in the sambal,” Aly put in. “Boulaj, remember? She tasted t
he sambal and said she thought it might be off, but she couldn't tell, and neither did you. That's when she added the herbs to make your bowels run. She knew she'd get most of you, because Chenaol makes dreadful sambal, and you all eat it at every house we visit.”

  “How did she escape Aly?” demanded Pembery, her voice sharp but her hands steady as she pinned up Winnamine's hair. “Aly was supposed to be looking after our ladies.” Dorilize, doing up Nuritin's buttons, shook her head.

  “Aly was lured away and locked up,” Aly said absently, her mind churning with plans and questions. “If one of the Fonfalas' maids hadn't needed a nightshirt for a guest who forgot his, I might still be locked up.” She wasn't about to mention the Graveyard Hag, not yet. She had already concocted a story for those who might not accept the truth. “One of Zaimid's servants brought a message saying you wanted to tell me something, Pembery. I knew you were sick, so I went running, and that's when they grabbed me.” Even the hint that she might have been involved would stop Pembery from digging further into the mess they were in.

  Winnamine shook her head. “We must put our best face on this,” she told the maids. “To our men-at-arms and the rest of the staff. The thing is done. We all knew Sarai was more interested in her heart than politics.” She got to her feet. “Let's show proud faces to the world, shall we? It will take some time to live down this shame. Give no one the satisfaction of seeing we are hurt. I must explain things to my parents, and let the rest of our people know we are leaving today rather than tomorrow.”

  As soon as she had left the house, Pembery and Boulaj pulled Aly out onto the porch. “How could you let this happen?” cried Pembery, tears running down her cheeks.

  Boulaj, too, wept. “Can the god—?”

  Aly put her finger to her lips. She motioned toward the house: Nuritin and Dorilize were within earshot.